


Submission

by secretbraintwin



Series: Submission [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, Choking, Collars, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Face-Fucking, Facials, Feeding, Femdom, Hand Feeding, Happy Ending, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kinbaku, Knifeplay, M/M, Massage, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Torture, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Power Imbalance, Prostitution, Public Humiliation, Public Nudity, Punishment, Rope Bondage, Size Kink, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 32,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretbraintwin/pseuds/secretbraintwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My fill for this prompt:</p><p>Ultra submissive Zevran please. I would love full-on claiming, collaring, a slave to the warden. Maybe m!cousland has a hard-on for elves? A secret dalish ritual? Maybe its in return for being spared his life?</p><p>Mucho sadism and a Zevran that loves everything that the warden does. (And actually learns to care for him, too.)</p><p>http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10371.html?thread=44280195#t44280195</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Oh, look. The little elf isn't dead after all," a voice above him drawled. 

He opened his eyes blearily, then immediately squeezed them shut. Brasca. When did the sun get so bright? What was going on? His head felt like it'd been split in two. 

A metal-toed boot hit his ribs, "Look at me when I speak to you."

He forced his eyes back open. The Warden. He remembered, now. He had not expected to wake up from his suicide mission. Though from the look of disgust in the human's eye, he may not yet survive this day. 

"Very well," he said, propping himself up on one arm. "My name is Zevran. Zev, to my friends..."

"I don't care about your name, elf. You will answer the questions that I ask, or you will remain silent. Maker, didn't they teach elves how to behave where you're from?" he punctuated his words with another strike to his side. He was quickly becoming tired of that. "Speaking of which, where are you from, exactly? Why did you attack us?"

"I am a member of the Antivan Crows," he explained. "Brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly."

"A Crow? Truly? That's a surprise," he crossed his arms over his chest. "I've always heard they were competent."

"Oh, fine, is that what you Fereldens do? Mock your prisoners? Such cruelty," he shifted a little, finally clear-headed enough to notice that the familiar weight of his daggers were gone. Save for the one strapped to his back, below the leathers, and another in his boot. 

The man looked thoroughly unamused, "Tell me something useful, like who hired you, or you will see just how cruel I can be."

"A rather taciturn fellow in the Capital. Loghain, I think."

His expression darkened even further at that name. Which he hadn't thought was possible. Somehow the stern, hornless giant in their group looked less terrifying by comparison. 

There was a long pause while the human seemed to consider this new information. Or possibly a very bad smell. Who knew?

"Get up and remove your armor," he ordered at last.

Hardly the first time he'd heard those words, but it surprised him nonetheless. He doubted the man wished to ravish him in front of his companions. Maybe he simply wanted to sell off his armor, later, and didn't want it damaged by blood. Or stabbing for that matter.

Still, Zevran knew better than to defy the command, lest the human decide to make his death slower than necessary. He pushed himself to his feet and stripped his leathers with practiced ease. He did not make a show of it, however. The man had made no move to flirt. And if he did not enjoy the company of the male sex, he might very well take offense to the presumption. 

"Clothes, too," the Warden said, as soon as he'd finished. 

A red-haired archer protested, "Surely that is not necessary?"

"Even a poor assassin would probably have another weapon or two hidden beneath his clothes," which was true. "I don't particularly want to be stabbed in the back today, do you?"

"So we're taking him with us?" another companion, this one a blond man, asked. 

"He's not much of a threat. If he tries to kill me again, I'll just deliver another pommel strike to his head. And this time, I'll make sure he doesn't wake up," he shrugged. "Besides, I could use an elf boy for a servant."

Elf boy? Very well, he had played the part for a kill more than a few times. The Crows had beaten any sense of pride out of him long ago.

Zevran was down to his smalls, now. He did not hesitate to drop them. Both the blond and the red-head averted their eyes. 

The Warden made a spinning motion with his finger, and he complied, slowly turning around to show he truly had no other weapon. He was thankful for the chilled autumn air--it helped him from getting excited at the thought of a powerful, striking man studying every inch of him...

He caught a twitch of a smile on the Warden's lips. Perhaps he did enjoy the company of men, after all?

"Alistair, get the rope."


	2. Chapter 2

"Cousland, you're not _really_ doing this, right?" the blond asked, though he still handed him a coil of rope. "He tried to kill you. And...and he's... _naked_."

"Fine, fine," Cousland rolled his eyes. "Elf, you can put the lioncloth back on for now, but that's it."

He stepped back into his smalls with a small sigh of relief. Not out of modesty, he had none. But the cold was beginning to get to him.

"Where are your manners? I was generous to you, so you should thank me. Say thank you, Master Cousland."

"Thank you, Master Cousland," he repeated. The man spoke with such authority, stood with such confidence, gazed at him with such intensity... This was a natural born leader. And not a man to be trifled with. 

"Good," the human crossed over and seized his arms, binding them together. He started at his wrists, and finished with a complicated knot at his elbows, far from the reach of his fingers. Clearly, he knew what he was doing. "Here are the rules, elf. You may answer a question, if asked. Otherwise, you may only say yes, Master Cousland, no, Master Cousland, and thank you, Master Cousland. Slavery is illegal, of course. So you will be paid. With your life. You will do as you are ordered. If not, you will be punished. Please me, and I may reward you. I believe it goes without saying that attempting to run or kill me will severely shorten your lifespan. Understand, elf?"

"Yes, Master Cousland," he purred. Zevran bowed his head and looked up at him through his long lashes. It was a risk, but based on the small smirk he flashed, it had worked. 

Cousland seized him by the hair and dragged him to his camp, the human's mabari trailing at his heels. Even if he attempted to run, he was certain the dog would catch him, and leave him worse for wear. The Warden had some...interesting traveling companions. A dwarven merchant and his son, an elderly lady who he suspected was more than just Cousland's grandmother, and a raven-haired woman who eyed him, and exchanged heated words with the Warden. Cousland, however, apparently won, and she went off to her own tent without speaking a word to him. 

The rest of the group cooked and ate dinner in an awkward silence, most of them avoiding his eyes. When the red-haired woman tried to give him a portion, Cousland put it off to the side, saying, "Not until he's earned it."

He was ordered to wash the dishes, a difficult, time-consuming task with his arms bound, and _then_ he was finally allowed to eat, though Cousland pointedly gave his share of the rabbit to the mabari, leaving him with just half a potato. Still, it was more than the Crows gave him during his first entire _week_ of training. 

Cousland walked around the camp, speaking to each of his companions (save for the mistrustful woman), and then playing with his dog until nightfall. 

Then he gestured him to go into one of the tents. The biggest one. Presumably Cousland's. 

Alistair stopped him, "You're not going to... Do anything to him, are you?"

"What do you want me to do, leave him outside?" he scoffed. "He'll be gone before midnight. No, he'll be sleeping at the foot of my bed, next to Cuddles," Cuddles? She did _not_ look like a 'Cuddles'. "The mabari'll eat him if he tries to pull anything."


	3. Chapter 3

Zevran climbed into the tent, laying down on his side at the foot of the bed, as the Warden wished him to. He made certain to arch his back, to best show off his features. The Crows would kill him for failing, and he knew he could not kill the human (not right now at least) so it appeared that he was stuck, for the time being. He might as well make the most of it.

Cousland secured the tent flap behind him before the mabari came in.

"Sit up, elf," Zevran obeyed, and the human took a seat across from him. "You think I'm daft? You're trying to seduce me. I want to know why."

"I find you attractive," he replied honestly. Not so much his looks. His nose was too big, his eyes too small. But he was tall, well-muscled, and dominating in a way that was very much appealing to him. 

"Bullshit. What, do you have a poisoned needle in your hair?" he grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled his head down, sifting through his hair with his fingers and untangling his braids. Poisoned needles in the hair was mostly a myth. It was true that some had tried it, but too many had ended up getting themselves pricked rather than the target. 

"Open your mouth," he ordered, finally letting go. Zevran did as he was told, shuddering in anticipation. The man plunged a finger inside and he automatically began to suck. He could taste the cooked rabbit he hadn't been allowed at dinner. Still, he considered himself lucky. Some humans wouldn't bother with preparation. "Stop that," he snapped. The elf pulled back, confused. "I was checking your teeth, fool," he said, running the digit methodically along the inside of his mouth. "I know assassins keep poison capsules in there." Another myth. All capsules dissolved over time. So he found nothing, of course. 

The human let out a frustrated noise, "What is it, then? How are you planning on killing me?"

"I am not. I tried and you bested me, so even if I killed you now, the Crows would murder me on principal for failing the first time. That's how it works. "

"So, you will serve me in exchange for protection from the Crows?" he asked. 

"That is the plan, yes."

"Well, if all the Crows are as incompetent as you, I should have nothing to worry about, then," he said. "Though I am not certain a mere servant is worth the hassle."

"Ah, but I am skilled at many other things," he persuaded. "From fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more...sophisticated now that I have failed. I can recognize their way of doing things, you see. And, since we are already here, I could warm your bed?"

There was that fleeting smile again, "So you'll be my personal bed slave?"

"I grew up in a whore-house," he replied, shifting from sitting to kneeling. "I have no boundaries, and many talents. I will do anything and everything you wish. I will make my life worth your while, Master Cousland."


	4. Chapter 4

The human climbed over to his pack and rifled through its contents. Zevran leaned to the side, trying to get a look over his shoulder. Lubricant? More rope? Gag? 

But, no. He turned back with a small silver bar in his hand. 

Zevran knew the rules--no speaking unless spoken to--so he raised an eyebrow. 

"What's that look for?" the Warden asked, holding it out to him. 

"I must admit, I am...confused as to why you are giving this to me? You told me earlier that you would pay me by allowing me to live."

"Yes. You will serve me in exchange for your life. But scrubbing dishes and polishing armor is one thing, I will not bed you against your will. If you don't accept the silver, I will not touch you. Have I made myself clear?"

He was...being given a choice? There were many perks to being a Crow got--wine, gold, women, men. But choice was rarely one of them. An assassin had to accept contracts fairly frequently, or else risk losing their standing. Losing one's standing oftentimes meant losing one's life. Not that he was particularly attached to his life. Quite the opposite, in fact. But he was hoping to die in battle. The man could easily tie him to a tree and let him starve to death, if he wanted. Or have him mauled by "Cuddles." And the Crows? They did not treat failure kindly. His death at their hands would be long and painful.

Perhaps he deserved long and painful, but he did not particularly want it.

"I...yes. But if I may, Master Cousland, what happens if the Crows attack? You said a mere servant may not be worth the hassle."

"True, but it seems like the Crows are going to assume you're dead. So if they come, it'll be for me, not you anyway," his eyes narrowed. "Listen, elf. I am your master now. I will not lose anything else that's mine. You understand?"

That intensity...

"Yes, Master Cousland," Zevran answered. 

He took the bar.


	5. Chapter 5

Cousland smirked again, pulling on one end of the knot until the bindings fully unraveled. His fingers stung and tingled as feeling rushed back to them. 

Even so, he was grateful for the freedom. Not that he didn't enjoy bondage, but he had been restricted for _hours_. 

He placed the silver to the side and then reached out for the straps holding the warrior's breastplate, only for his hands to be slapped away. 

"You don't get to touch me without permission, elf," he snapped. Brasca, he should not find being called 'elf' arousing. "Now, remove your smalls and get on your knees, chest to the floor."

"Yes, Master Cousland," he turned so that the man would have full view of his arse as he expertly slipped off the skimpy bit of cloth. Zevran assumed the position, legs spread wide, resting on his forearms with his cheek pressed against the scratchy cotton bottom of the tent. He felt vulnerable, exposed. But more than anything, excited for what would happen next.

"No, no, no," a metal-clad hand smacked his ass, drawing out a gasp. Thanks to the Crows, he had an extremely high tolerance for pain. He could stand the Racks for days without a single sound. But in bed, his partners generally liked him to be responsive. Not that he was faking, so much as he didn't hold back. "Reach your arms between your legs. That's it, there you go."

The rough material of the rope was looped around his wrists again, but instead of winding around his forearms, each end was tied to one of his ankles, leaving enough slack so that his legs could still be spread wide. 

The sound of metal clanking against metal behind him made it clear the human was stripping, though he was denied the pleasure of seeing it in this position. 

"You really are a damn whore," the human taunted. More noises behind him, but not metallic. Probably removing his clothes. "Haven't even gotten touched yet and your little prick is already getting hard for me. And you can't touch yourself or grind up against something in this position, can you? No, you have to wait for me to be nice."

He had a feeling he would be waiting quite a while.


	6. Chapter 6

Calloused fingertips slid up his calves to his thighs, tracing the tattoos at his hips before continuing up to his shoulders. The human was full of surprises. The man went from spanking him with a gauntlet on to...caressing him. Cousland was playing games, that much was clear. He _knew_ how hard Zevran was, but instead of touching his arse or dick, he was purposefully touching everywhere _else_.

He arched his back further, tempting him. 

The man chuckled, "You already want it badly, don't you?"

"Yes, Master Cousland," he purred, his voice husky and seductive. He knew it was rhetorical but he didn't care. If that was the only thing he'd be allowed to say, he was going to make the most of it.

"I will need to get more rope," fingertips turned into fingernails, scratching lightly down his back. He couldn't see him, couldn't know what was coming or when. And he rather enjoyed that, even if he was being a frightful tease. "This is good enough, for now, but I want to see you trussed up properly."

Zevran hummed his approval. He liked the sound of that, even though a muscle in the back of his neck was really beginning to cramp. He shifted his head to the other side, hoping that would ease the discomfort. No such luck. He would just have to focus on something else for the time being.

Unfortunately, Cousland had stopped teasing him without warning (it sounded as if he was rummaging through his pack again, perhaps searching for rope?), so that the only other thing for him to focus on was his own untouched arousal. Brasca. This was _torture_. It was a relief when those hands returned to his hips, even if it wasn't quite the contact he was hoping for. 

He wanted to ask what he'd been doing, but of course that was against the rules. 

But he wasn't exactly one to follow the rules, anyhow. 

"Find what you're looking for?" Zevran asked. What could he say? The curiosity got the better of him. Besides, he was interested in how the Warden would decide to punish him. 

"No, I didn't actually," he sounded frustrated. "And you were _not_ given permission to speak freely, elf," a hard slap landed on his left cheek. "I was going to let you come tonight but now..." a smack to his right cheek to match. He was a strong one. Already his arse was stinging. "You can forget about that."

He'd gambled and lost on that one. Not only did he not know what the other man had been searching for, he knew the man was serious in not allowing him release tonight. 

_Smack._

Well, at least part of the punishment was rather nice.


	7. Chapter 7

His arse was burning, his neck was throbbing, his hands and feet were long since numb. All of that was nothing compared to the tight, agonizing feeling in his sack. In between slaps, Cousland ghosted his fingers across his cock, his balls, his perineum, just to make sure he stayed hard. Zevran was not the most devoted Andrastian, but he found himself praying for relief. He couldn't even beg the human, otherwise he was certain he'd be punished further, and it may not be a few slaps, either. 

Not that he wasn't enjoying himself. A bit of pain enhanced the pleasure, to an extent. But any more than this...

The relentless spanking and teasing finally stopped. He was not foolish enough to trust that, though. The man could be luring him into believing it was over, just to make him let down his guard. 

But instead of another blow to his backside, he felt his left ankle being untied, followed by the right one. 

What was he doing? 

Cousland grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped him onto his back. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, lifting his hips so as not to put pressure on his abused arse. 

"Oh please, you whined less after I knocked you unconscious," the human scoffed. He opened his eyes. Cousland's body was _gorgeous_. Broad shoulders, large biceps, defined legs, substantial cock. There was a particularly nasty scar across the side of his sword-arm, and smaller ones all across him. The markings of a warrior. Those calloused fingertips traced the tattoos down his face, just as they did his hips. "Such a pretty bed slave. Pity I can't fuck your tight little ass tonight."

"No, Master Cousland?" These restrictions on what he could and couldn't say were getting frustrating, but he hoped his question still came across. 

"Can't. No lubricant," he replied. Zevran raised an eyebrow. Most men would simply use a bit of spit and be done with it. It wouldn't be pleasurable, as large as Cousland was, but he could take it. "I'll just have to fuck your face instead."

"Yes, Master Cousland," he slowly licked his lips. He was eager to demonstrate his skills. Perhaps, if he pleased him well enough, the human would let him come after all. 

The Warden took his hands and placed them on the inner part of his own thighs, tying the loose ends of the rope securely around his legs. If he stretched his fingers, he might be able to touch himself. But just barely. This Cousland was a cruel, cruel man. 

He loved this far too much.


	8. Chapter 8

The human climbed on top of him, meaty thighs straddling his face. He opened his mouth wide in invitation. Braska, that was a fine specimen of manhood.

"You want this cock down your throat?" the man slapped his cheek his with dick. Wouldn't even fuck his face without teasing him about it first. 

"Yes, Master Cousland." He was starting to miss the soft caresses below the belt. It was at least better than _nothing_ , which was what he was getting now. He would have to sneak out when the Warden and his dog were asleep to find release. Did Wardens sleep? They must, if they had bedrolls. He'd heard a rumor that they didn't need to. Then again, Grey Wardens were also supposed to ride griffons into battle. Cousland could perhaps ride Cuddles into battle, she was certainly big enough, but no wings. 

The human smeared his cock around his lips then pushed in, just enough for him to be able to close his mouth around the glans. Now it was his turn to tease, flicking and licking with his tongue.

"Enough of that," he ordered after a few moments. "Suck."

Zevran obeyed, his cheeks hollowing with his efforts. The human groaned, "Yeah, that's it. Good little whore."

More of that gorgeous, thick cock was pressed into his mouth. His jaw was already stretched wide to accommodate its girth, and it was barely even halfway in. He could deepthroat, of course, and he prided himself on his skills, but this was excessive. Typically, with a member this size he would use his hands at the base, so that he would not have to take the entire length. Which was not possible, considering his hands were currently bound to his thighs. 

"Deep breath," the human directed, pushing past his throat. "Yeah, take that cock. Take it all, elf..."

Zevran swallowed and swallowed, blocking the need to choke and trying to get as much of the cock down as he could. When his nose finally hit the man's crotch, Cousland pulled back entirely, letting him gasp for air. 

That was...intense. Everything about the human was intense. 

They repeated this a number of times, Cousland forcing himself all the way inside and then pulling out, building his pace. 

"Almost there," Cousland said, starting to fuck his throat in earnest. He couldn't fit all of him at this fast of a pace, but Zevran did the best he could. He peered up at him, and saw the Warden throw his head back with a groan. It was too far back in his throat to taste it, but he could still tell that the man had found his release.

"I'm impressed, elf. You take it so good," the man praised as he once again pulled out. Zevran sucked in air, his throat raw and his jaw aching. It was a good pain, however. And despite the fact that he hadn't been touched in quite some time, his erection persisted. "Still hard, I see. You get off on sucking human cock that much, huh?"

"Yes, Master Cousland," his voice came out raspy. 

The human dismounted, stroking back the sweaty strands of hair from Zevran's brow. He smiled down at him, and he couldn't help but smile back. For some reason, he found himself craving the attention and approval of this man, a stranger. 

Said stranger then untied his wrists and thighs completely, throwing the rope to one side, and pulled out a pair of nightclothes from his pack. He slipped on the pants, paused for a moment, and threw the matching shirt at Zevran, "Put it on, if you want." 

Yet another surprise. 

He pulled the shirt over his head and heard chuckling at his expense. Though he couldn't blame him. Even with the sleeves rolled up, it was comically large for his body, the hem almost hanging to his knees. But it was soft material, at least.

The man went to the flap of the tent and let in his Mabari, who promptly fell asleep at the foot of the bedroll. Cousland crawled beneath the covers and gestured for Zevran to join him. Those strong arms pulled him close, tucking his head beneath his chin. 

Looked like he'd have to wait until morning to relieve his frustration...


	9. Chapter 9

Cousland fell asleep almost the instant he closed his eyes. Zevran was not so lucky. He did not dare reach down and touch himself, or rut against the man, for fear of waking him. The Warden had said he would not come tonight, and if he was caught trying to defy that...

He shivered, and not just because of the chilled night air. He was _dying_ here. He couldn't come, and being pressed up against a fine specimen of a man was not helping his erection wilt. All he could do is lie as still as possible and wait. 

And wait. 

And wait. 

He drifted off once or twice, only to awaken every time the human shifted against him and piqued his interest anew. 

A line of red light peaked in from the bottom of the tent flap, slowly stretching up til it reached Warden's face. 

Cousland stirred and opened his eyes, his features flashing with surprise and then recognition. "Good morning, elf," he greeted. "Sleep well?"

"No, Master Cousland," and, since he'd been asked a question, he felt he could risk expanding his answer. "If I may, you said I wasn't allowed to come tonight, but it's the morning now, no?"

"So it is," the man's hand traveled up under the hem of his shirt, squeezing his still sore ass. "You were good? Didn't sneak off to finish during the night, right?"

"Yes, Master Cousland."

The hand slid over his hip to his cock, grazing the length.

He didn't hold back his gasp. It hurt. He was far too sensitive. But at the same time, it was good, so good...

"You've been like this all night, then?"

"Yes, Master Cousland," he repeated, more than a hint of desperation in his voice. 

The human's free hand snaked in between him, and the next thing he knew, the human's thick cock was next to his own, hard from morning wood. Cousland licked his palm and started to stroke them together. 

Zevran's hands balled into tight fists, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to touch the man, to cling to him, scratch down his back. But he wasn't allowed to without permission. The pace build. It was too much. Not enough. 

He came in just a few strokes, spilling himself onto Cousland's thigh. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't such a relief. The human let him go and started stroking himself in earnest, until he felt him spatter onto his stomach. 

"Go to my pack," Cousland said. "There should be a handkerchief, fetch it for me."

At the foot of the bed, the mabari lifted her head, ears perked up. 

The human let out a laugh.

"No, I don't want _you_ to fetch, Cuddles," the man said as Zevran crawled out from under the covers. "I meant the elf. What was your name again?"

He cocked an eyebrow. What happened to not caring about his name?

"Zevran," he replied, giving him the bit of cloth. "Or Zev, if you prefer."

Cousland wiped off his thigh and then handed it back to him, "Clean yourself off, elf."

He obeyed. 

The human was...confusing. Why did he ask his name if he was still going to insist on calling him 'elf'? Mind games. He was playing with him.

Though Zevran had to admit, the games, like the man, intrigued him...


	10. Chapter 10

After breakfast, the red-haired woman, Leliana he'd learned, gave him some rough armor. They were cut for a woman, obviously, so they were slightly large in the chest and the hips, a little long, too tight in the shoulders. But Zevran did not complain. It was much colder than the day before, and he would take warmth over comfort at the moment. 

Cousland had not protested. Claiming that a servant would be no good to him if he died of exposure. 

Zevran wondered whether that was all there was to it. 

They packed up camp, Zevran once again serving at the human's beck and call, and then they set off. They didn't stop until dusk, when even the giant was showing signs of fatigue. His feet ached. Many elves wore no shoes, but he was accustomed to boots.

In the distance, just an hour of walking away, there was a great castle. The others called it Redcliffe. From what he'd gathered eavesdropping, there was something to do with an Arl and his son. 

_Oh that poor boy..._ he heard the Orlesian tell the blond man. Alistair. The human had bowed his head in response.

Whatever had happened, it didn't end well. 

Dinner. Cleaning. Setting up. Then, finally, Cousland gestured him over to his tent. They entered, the mabari included. 

"You can take your armor off," he said, tossing him the same nightshirt as before. "Here. Whether you want to sleep next to me or not is your choice, as long as you stay in the tent."

And that was that. No sex. They changed into nightclothes and then Zevran moved to lie next to the warrior. But Cousland stopped him, grabbing his leg, lifting it to look at the sole of his foot, "What is the matter with your feet, elf?"

"We walked all day without shoes, Master Cousland," he replied. 

"I thought elves didn't need to wear any?"

"Some don't," he admitted. "But I do. I was wearing them when we...had our encounter, if you remember."

"Yes, but I thought that was just so you'd have an extra place to store weapons," he said, climbing out of the bedroll. The man dug through a trunk and handed him a pair of boots. "These are too small for anyone else. Try them on."

Zevran inhaled deeply. The wretched stench of Antivan leather. He'd recognize it anywhere.

"You're...smelling them? Why?"

"These are no ordinary boots. They are made of Antivan leather, you see. I lived near the leather-making district for years in Antiva city, packed in an apartment with other Crow recruits. I grew used to the stench, and now? It reminds me of home," the human made no indication of stopping or interrupting him. In fact, he looked amused so he continued. "Before I left, I was tempted to use what little coin I had on a pair much like these. Though considerably less worn. Not that I am complaining, of course."

"Go on, then, try them on," he said. His expression was...unreadable. 

They fit like a glove. And he told the Warden as much. 

"Good," Cousland nodded. "Wynne will patch you up in the morning, and then they are yours. I was going to sell them, but I doubt the Ferelden market will appreciate the smell of them, anyway. Now, come to bed, elf."

He pulled off the boots and got underneath the covers. Once again, he found himself in a strong, warm hold. 

Zevran slept soundly.


	11. Chapter 11

Leliana was getting more and more frustrated, fiddling with the lock on the extravagant chest. "I couldn't get this one before, and I still can't," she declared at last. 

He tapped her on the shoulder, holding out his hand. It was getting dull doing nothing but standing around and looking pretty, despite the fact that standing around was considerably more comfortable now that his feet were healed and clad in feather-soft doeskin. 

"You want to try?" she asked. 

Zevran nodded, and looked back at Cousland for permission. 

He shrugged, looking bored. Apparently he didn't have much faith in Zevran's skills. 

Well, he would prove him wrong. 

The other rogue handed him her set of lockpicks and he set to work, very carefully knocking each tumblr into place before turning it. Success! Inside, there was a rather large pouch of gold, some heavy armor, and a ring. 

The Warden gave him an amused smile, and he felt a swelling of pride in his chest, "You're making me regret sparing your life less and less, elf."

"Thank you, Master Cousland." 

"As a reward, I will let you speak freely, so long as you mind your pleases and thank yous. And, of course, you must always address your superiors with respect. Understand?"

"I understand, Master Cousland," he beamed. 

Cousland took the ring from the chest, slipping it into his pocket, and they continued into the Redcliff Castle. 

 

~o~O~o~

 

He had always been talkative, and now that he was finally allowed that freedom after being deprived for days, he'd been chatting constantly to any of the companions that would listen. He even spoke to Cuddles, though the mabari only barked in reply. 

After their usual routine, he joined the Warden in his tent and they stripped down together. But tonight, instead of giving him a the nightshirt, he dug into the pocket of his armor. 

"Your payment, if you choose to accept," Cousland said, handing him the ring from earlier. Silver. He would have preferred a bar of it like last time but it was still very nice. Lovely stone in the center. "But before your decision, I must inform you, I procured both rope and lubricant from the town today, and I intend to use them."


	12. Chapter 12

"That just makes the offer sweeter, Master Cousland," he purred, sliding the ring onto his thumb. Obviously made for a human, so that was the only finger it would fit on. 

The man cocked his head to one side, looking smug, "You truly do enjoy being bound, don't you? It's not just an act for my pleasure?"

"It's not an act, I assure you, Master Cousland," he replied honestly. "I am looking forward to this."

"Good," he took out the new, much longer piece of rope, unwound it, and folded it in half. Then he looped it around the back of his neck and made a knot at his sternum. This one was much more fine, almost soft. "Simple binding of the wrists and such is standard, but not all elf whores have the stomach to handle what I have in mind. If you actually enjoy this, then I will not have to worry about wasting resources on new rope." Cousland walked around his kneeling form, threading the ends of the rope beneath his armpits and making another knot along his spine. 

"You are worried I will panic and tear free of the rope?" he asked, as his forearms were seized and bound together at his lower back. 

"You will not be able to break free, I am confident of that," he replied. Zevran believed him. He would not be able to escape himself without a knife, and even then it would be extremely difficult to get the angle right. A shiver went through his body. He felt vulnerable. But the vulnerability felt _good_. "No, I worry that this will overwhelm you, I'd have to cut you loose."

The Warden switched sides again, his face lined with concentration. He knew exactly what he was doing. As if he had some vision in his head that he had already perfected, and was merely executing it. He tied more knots along his navel, looping it around the length just below his clavicle to make a spider's web all along his chest. They were biting deliciously into his skin, "Why not just untie it if you are worried about ruining the rope?"

Cousland paused his work, deep brown eyes boring into him, "It takes just as long to untie the ropes as it does to tie them. You would have me let you suffer in the meantime? No. And don't be false with me if you've overestimated your ability to deal with this. You could do harm to yourself if you break and start struggling. I would rather have a cut rope than a cut rope _and_ a cut whore. I do not like my things damaged. Understand, elf?"

"Yes, Master Cousland," he said, looking purposefully demure as he stared down at the tent floor. Then he lifted his head, smirking. "But I know I can take it."

The Warden returned his smile for a brief moment. "Of course you can," he said. The ends of the soft rope were wound around his upper thighs and then tied tightly to the rope loops on his chest, forcing him to double over. "I am beginning to think you are more talented than I originally gave you credit for, little whore."

Such a little smile, such a little compliment, but it made him swell with pride nonetheless. And in more ways than one. 

The human crossed back behind him, and it sounded like he was going through his pack. Zevran heard the popping of a cork and spread his legs wide in anticipation.


	13. Chapter 13

Of course, Cousland did not enter him immediately. He was far too much of a tease for that. 

"I have been wanting this since the moment I laid eyes on you," he murmured, tracing an oil-slick finger up and down his crack. "You have a perfect ass, do you know that? For as thin and muscled the rest of you is, your backside is nicely rounded."

"So I have been told, Master Cousland," he grinned. 

"Arrogant little elf, aren't you?" the man bore down on the space between his balls and his hole, making him squirm. He did not fool himself into thinking Cousland gave a nug's ass about his pleasure, if he did he would have allowed him to come on their first night. No, this was a matter of dominance. Working him up, and then giving him no release. Perhaps begging would help? 

The Warden took his sac in hand and squeezed. Enough to be painful, to make his cheeks clench, but not unbearable, "I asked you a question."

"Yes, Master Cousland, yes I'm an arrogant little elf!" the pressure released and he let out a sigh of relief, relaxing. Cruel, sexy bastard. 

A re-lubricated finger returned between his cheeks, but only teased at the opening now. He predicted it wouldn't be long before--

"Ah!" he exclaimed. The finger that had just skewered him wiggled, working further inside. 

He relaxed into it, earning a, "Good whore," from Cousland. Plus another finger. 

The man added more lubricant when needed, and took his sweet time before slowly inserting a third finger. Strange. He would tie him up, beat his ass red, and fuck his throat. But in this? He was gentle. The efforts were not strictly necessary, he knew how to handle being taken fast and hard. But still, very much appreciated. And he vocalized as much. 

It must have something to do with the "I do not like my things damaged," mentality. 

There was another thing that was...unusual. Obviously, the man enjoyed teasing him, and he knew his way around an ass. And yet, he did not appear to make any efforts to seek out his prostate. 

He did not get much of a chance to muse on this, however, since soon the fingers were removed and something much larger pressed against him.


	14. Chapter 14

He went slow, at least at first, giving him plenty of time to adjust to that magnificent girth. Even without direct prostate stimulation, the stretch itself made up for it.

And the _ache_. His arms, shoulders, legs... The pain was adding to the pleasure. 

Apparently satisfied that he was ready, the human pulled out halfway and did a good, hard thrust, drawing out a shout from Zevran's lips. 

"Did that hurt?" the Warden asked, staying still. Not mocking or teasing. A serious question. 

"No, Master Cousland," he answered. "Well, yes, actually. But in a good way. I would very much enjoy more, if it so pleases you." He punctuated this with an inviting push back of his hips. 

"Good."

More thrusting (mostly from Cousland, as he had the better leverage). More shouting (mostly from Zevran, as it seemed to excite him). 

He was enjoying it so much he could _almost_ completely ignore Cuddles whining to get inside the tent. There were occasional raindrops hitting the roof, but by the dog's reaction, it might as well have been a flood. 

The human picked up speed for a few more shallow shoves and then groaned, collapsing onto his straining, rope-burned back. Heavy and sweaty and still inside him. 

The Warden made no move to touch him. 

Not this again...

He was getting desperate enough to do something stupid. 

"Master Cousland?" he spoke up, voice uncertain. If the man had been planning on letting him come, he might revoke that privilege. 

"Hmmmm?"

"Please, if I may..."

"You want to come?" the human guessed correctly. He felt the softened length being pulled out of him with a wet squelch. He was not sure if that was a good sign.

"I humbly request it, yes."

The sword-worn hand encircled his cock. It was dry, but at least it was _something_. 

And, with as worked up as he already was, all it took was a few, quick strokes and he was thanking the Warden profusely. Why could he never hold out with this man?

"You earned it," he heard Cousland wipe his hand off on something, and felt a wet cloth clean his entrance. Then the man began to expertly and efficiently untie the ropes. Switching from back to front without a word. 

Why wasn't he talking? Had he done something wrong? Would this be the last time they would do this? 

No. No, he was being irrational. It was just the drop talking.

At last, he was completely free. Before he could even stretch, Cousland picked him up and carried him into bed, not bothering with bedclothes. He let the overly-dramatic, barely-damp Cuddles inside, and got under the covers with him, offering him a skin of water. He drank half of it down, gratefully, then the human finished it off. 

"You were amazing. Exceeded my high expectations for you, in fact," the man said, kneading the flesh of his shoulders and upper arms. It felt so, so good after being bound in one position for so long. And he was strong, warm... "You may touch me, if you need to, Zevran."

The assassin did not need to be told twice, hugging him around the middle and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

It was not until the next morning that he realized Cousland had actually called him by his name.


	15. Chapter 15

There was no waking up in each other's arms. No, Cousland was an early riser. He had already gotten his clothes on and was fiddling with his armor by the time the clanking metal drew Zevran from sleep. 

And that's when it hit him. Zevran. He'd called him Zevran. 

"Good, you're awake," Cousland said. "You have work to do, elf. Come here and fasten this strap for me."

His face sank. Well, that was long-lasted. He obeyed without a word and once the man's armor was finished, he got dressed quickly himself, then followed Cousland outside. Based on the stench of Ferelden cooking, he had dishes to do.

Only they didn't get two feet from the tent before they were confronted by Alistair . Who, as it happened, had the tent closest to theirs. Coincidence? Zevran thought not. 

"Cousland," Alistair said, voice lowered. "I need to speak with you. In private." He eyed Zevran. 

"He's _my_ servant. I will dismiss him when I want to and not a moment sooner," the man crossed his arms. "Don't forget you wanted _me_ to be the leader. So I'm making the decisions."

"You're not making very good ones!" the other man hissed. "I heard you...you know, go at it. Are you mad? He tried to kill you. Kill all of us. First Morrigan, now this?"

"The witch has her uses, just as the elf has his. It would be a waste to not use them."

"You're not using him, he's using _you_ ," he protested. "He's obviously doing this to lure you into a false sense of security. And you know what? You're right. We don't need to have this conversation in private because I want him to know that I know."

"Your opinion has been noted. Now, if you're finished questioning my leadership, I think the dishes need to be done," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Alistair stalked off, grumbling. 

"Servant," Cousland continued, addressing him. "Go fetch two plates. Bring them to the tent. And be quick about it, there is a matter I wish your opinion on."


	16. Chapter 16

"Do you speak Dalish?"

Zevran raised an eyebrow. Of all the things he thought Cousland would ask him about...the Dalish? 

"No," he said after a pause. "My mother was Dalish, at least so I was told, but I never learned a word of it myself."

The Warden gave him an odd look, "Those marks on your face...I thought only Dalish had them? They do it to their babies or something like that."

"Oh, no no no, these are not Dalish markings," he began. "You see, I received them in Antiva, just after my first mission. If you look closely, there is a faded scar under them. Foolish mistake on my part. My master suggested (well, forced really) me get them, to cover up the ugliness with something beautiful. I ended up liking it, however, and that's when I..." 

Cousland made a slicing gesture with his hand and his rambling fell silent. 

"Focus, elf. I need to pay a visit to the Dalish, and I would prefer not to waltz in there blind. Noble tutors do not exactly spend much time covering elven culture. I could navigate diplomatic relations with any human country, the dwarves, even the Qunari, but the elves?" he shrugged. "It is a gap in my knowledge."

"I...am afraid I cannot help you much in this regard," he admitted. "I have no more knowledge than the next man. They have facial tattoos, and they live with halla. That is all I know."

The human let out a huff, "Well...perhaps with you around they won't just attack us on sight, at least."


	17. Chapter 17

"I would not be so sure, Master Cousland" Zevran said. "Back in Antiva, a Dalish clan passed close to the city once. I thought that perhaps it would be better for me to run off and join them. The results were... disappointing. Still, every clan is different. I hear the ones in Ferelden are not quite as violent, no?"

"You did not speak the language, you did not know a single person in the clan, and you were willing to risk the wrath of the Crows to try to join them?" 

"There are many perks to being a Crow, but a retirement plan is not one of them. This was also early in my training, when they were teaching how to endure pain. It was...unpleasant," he waved his hand dismissively. "I thought they might accept me because my mother was Dalish. I never knew her, but she left behind this pair of gloves. Beautiful, and Dalish-made. The Crows took them from me, eventually, despite my best efforts to hide them. Personal effects were frowned upon."

"I can imagine," the Warden said. He put aside the mostly-finished plate of food and retrieved a scabbard from his apparently bottomless pack. Cousland drew the blade, showing it to him. It looked old, and not as well-made as his preferred weapon. 

"My family sword," he explained, sheathing it again. He pulled out a kite shield. Also quite old, with a heraldry of a green laurel wreath. "And the Shield of Highever. Neither are particularly formidable any longer, but they are heirlooms of my family. They're all I have left of them." The human paused for a moment, eyes far away. He looked...older. Weary. And when he spoke again, his words were soft. "I am sorry the gloves were taken from you, Zevran."

He did not know what happened to Cousland's family, and did not want to push. But he had...he was starting to feel...affection for this man. It distressed him to see him so pained. And despite his love for talking, words were failing him.

He reached out to touch his shoulder, but found his wrist snatched in a crushing grip. 

The man let go as quickly as he'd seized him, looking as surprised as Zevran felt. "I apologize. I was startled. I was...remembering."

Cousland leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before standing. 

"We should get going. We have a few days' travel ahead of us."


	18. Chapter 18

Four days and three nights later, they were completely and utterly lost. The forest seemed to have a mind of its own, purposefully leading them around in circles. His legs ached from the walking, his back ached from sleeping on uneven ground, and he fell asleep the second he laid down from exhaustion. To top it all off, it was raining. Every. Day. He was constantly cold, soaked to the bone. Zevran found himself missing the warmth of Antiva. 

At last, an hour or so from sunset, the rain turned to drizzle turned to clouds. They stopped in a clearing, and everyone began emptying out their boots and squeezing the water from their clothes. 

Zevran was toweling off his hair with the least damp piece of clothing he currently owned--his undershirt--when he felt cold metal against his arm. He turned to see Cousland, a gold bar in his hand. 

He grinned ear to ear. Zevran liked precious metals, gold in particular. And he also very much liked what this would mean for the rest of his evening. He wondered what special treats Cousland had in store for him this time. 

"Interested?" he offered. 

"Y--"

"No," Alistair interjected. "If you're going to...do things, you're not doing it ten feet away from my tent. Again. At least do it away from the rest of us this time. I don't want to hear it."

"For once, I agree with the fool," Morrigan said, looking up from her work of magically drying out pieces of kindling. "I have no desire to listen to the two of you."

"Surely there can be compromise?" Zevran said. Although they had only caught glimpses of them so far, there were wolves in the woods. He did not fancy getting caught by one with his pants down. "I am not one to be quiet, but I think a gag--"

"No," Cousland said. "I want to hear you," a shiver crept down Zevran's spine at those words. "We'll go off to the east a bit, by that cluster of oaks," he paused for a moment. "If you accept, I mean."

"I accept, Master Cousland."

Their noises would likely scare off any wolves, anyhow.


	19. Chapter 19

"I noticed I was given gold this time instead of silver," he said, as they reached past talking distance (but not quite sex noise distance...or barking distance)from the camp. "If I may ask, Master Cousland, what's the occasion?" he lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "What do you want to do to me?"

In response, Cousland seized him by the waist and the world was wrenched out from under him. He had been flung over the man's shoulder as if he weighed nothing. How he loved manhandling. 

"Ah, so you are to play the barbarian, carrying his booty off into the woods to enjoy his prize?" Zevran laughed. "Am I to play the virginal maiden nervous and excited to be whisked away?"

" _Virginal maiden_ was not the phrase I would have used," he scoffed, carrying him in long, quick strides through the trees. His legs were so long, Zevran typically had to take two paces for every one of his. "You're not a maiden, and you're certainly not a virgin. I don't believe you would be able to pull that off."

"I can play virginal!" he protested. He raised his voice two octaves. "Ooooh, Master Cousland, please be gentle, you're so _big_."

He earned a swat on the backside for that. It was...playful. Not Cousland's usual dominant and serious self. It was just what he needed after days of damp misery. 

Another lurch, and he was upright, his bare chest pinned to the bark of a great tree. The Warden ordered him to wrap his arms around the trunk and he did as he was bade. 

The familiar sound of Cousland rummaging made him bite his lower lip. Strange how such an ordinary noise, associate with enough pleasure, could make him aroused. He peaked around his shoulder to see him taking out the rope. Ah, he had hoped so. 

The man tied his wrists together tightly, making his exposed skin scrape deliciously against the bark. 

He felt something flat and cold between his shoulder blades. "A knife?"

Another swat to his still-clothed buttocks. "Remember your manners," he prompted. "Around the others, I may let things slide a little, but here? You're my bedslave. And you _will_ address me properly."

Feeling brave, and coy, he pushed his luck, "How will you punish me if I don't?"

A large hand pinned his head to the tree, and a line of pain was drawn from the tip of his ear across the ridge to the lobe. It hurt. It felt good, so good, but it _hurt_. It was not bad just...too much.

"Master Cousland, please!" he begged. "I'll be good, I swear, _please_."

"Unhand him!" a woman's voice shouted from behind him. "Let him go or I put an arrow through your heart!"


	20. Chapter 20

Zevran did not succumb to panic. He was far too experienced in life-threatening situations to do that. 

Nor did he struggle out of his bonds. This time, the knot was at his wrists, well within reach, so he _could_ have, but he had a feeling that would make this situation worse. 

No, he would have to rely on another means to defuse this situation. 

He laughed. 

A big, hearty laugh complete with throwing his head back. 

"My friend, it seems as if we stole away for some privacy only to find ourselves in public, no?" Then he quickly hissed, for Cousland's ears only, " _Laugh._ "

The human chuckled, somewhat nervously, "Yes, that seems to be the case. How embarrassing. My apologies, we were only trying to take advantage of the pause in rain."

Good. He caught on fast. He had been terrified of Cousland simply charging into battle at the threat. But, it appeared, his cunning was larger than his ego. 

"Let him go!" the woman repeated. "We will not tolerate an elf being taken captive on our lands, much less..."

"Captive!" Zevran exclaimed. "Oh, no no no, my lovely lady. I am no prisoner. My dear Warden, indulge her and untie my wrists, will you?"

The human was smart enough to do so, and as soon as he was free, he reaching up, standing on tiptoes to peck his lips. Odd that their first kiss happened under duress. 

But it was necessary. To protect Cousland, he would have to play the part of giggling lover. 

Zevran pressed his back into the man's chestplate, taking the man's hands and wrapped them around his waist. Like they couldn't keep their hands off each other. But, really, it was because between him and the tree, there were fewer targets for arrows to hit. Even the Dalish could not risk it without possibly hurting him as well. 

"My name is Zevran," he nonchalantly informed the blonde woman, who still had her bow drawn and her eyes narrowed. "And as much as I appreciate the concern, I am perfectly fine."

She loosened her bow but kept an arrow cocked(obviously so she wouldn't hit him on accident, rather than her actually buying it). "He cut your ear. You begged him to stop," she growled. "Swore you'd be _good_."

"Ears, especially elf ears as I am sure you are aware, are sensitive in more ways than one. I enjoy a little pain with my pleasure, and my dear friend here is kind enough to accommodate my tastes," he held out a hand. "Handkerchief, please?"

"Of course," Cousland dug in his pocket then handed him a red one. He pressed it to his ear, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Zevran felt an affectionate kiss to the top of his head and he lit up in a genuine smile. He knew it was for show, but it was still...nice. When did the love-and-leave Zevran get to be so much of a sap? "Did I go too deep this time, Zevran?"

"Oh, no, it is fine, I assure you. This is for their benefit, not mine."

The woman shook her head, "I don't believe it. He hasn't let you go. How can you be honest if you're still in his grasp?"

"And how do I know you won't shoot him once I do?" he countered. 

"You have my word," she said after a long pause. "We will not shoot him, _unless_ you request it. Or if he becomes violent to either you or us."

They were at a stalemate. 

With one last look up to Cousland, he extracted himself from his arms and walked forward ten paces, the only sign of tension the handkerchief balled in his fist. At this distance, even if the human charged, their arrows would kill him first.


	21. Chapter 21

Another five paces and he was within touching distance to the tattooed blonde. 

"Now do you believe me?" he said, his head cocked roguishly to the side. "Nothing you saw was against my will. I do not want him harmed. I am in need of no saving."

"Even if that's true, would you not rather stay with your own kind? You are not the first elf we have taken in from outside the tribe, in special circumstances."

"I..." he hesitated. Isn't this what he always wanted? Funny how, years ago, he had sought out the Dalish for protection from the Crows and been met with violence, and now that he _had_ protection from the Crows, the Dalish offered to accept him. 

No more being called _elf_. No more getting stuck with all the scutwork. As good as the sex was, he was a servant to Cousland. His treatment had been improving, yes, but he would never be an equal. 

"I think we have more pressing matters to discuss. The Blight, for instance," he evaded. "My companion, as it so happens, is a Gray Warden. He has business with your leader."


	22. Chapter 22

"Let's start where we left off, shall we?" Zevran crawled into Cousland's tent with a winning smile. The fact that the Dalish had refused to help, at least for now, had not gone over well with him. He had argued about the treaty, about how the Blight was already rising from the South, about how they did not have time to solve their petty problems. None of which seemed to ingratiate him to the Keeper much. Finally, he had agreed, begrudgingly, to assist with their sickness. In exchange for troops, of course. 

Hopefully sex would put him into a better mood. 

The man paused his brushing of Cuddles' fur, and gave him a look which said that would _not_ be happening tonight, "What are you doing in my tent? I did not invite you here."

He tried not to let his face fall, joking, "I thought...well, we have unfinished business, do we not? Unless you want a refund."

"Keep the gold, I don't care," he muttered, and continued with the brushing. "I have other things on my mind."

He sat down on his knees across from him, "Master Cousland..."

"Not for much longer, apparently."

"I do not know what you're talking about, I'm afraid."

"Yes, you do," he said. "You are going to leave me. Join them instead." Not a question, a statement. 

"I never said that."

"But you want to."

Zevran fell silent. To tell the truth, part of him did. 

"You spared my life," another evasion. 

"You and I both know you stayed with me for protection, not gratitude," he said, his voice laced with bitterness. "Now you have another form of protection. A bunch of treaty-breaking sick elves wallowing in the forest," he had Cuddles roll over on her back. She was ridiculously happy to comply, oblivious to the tension. "Maybe they'll give you some gloves of your own."

A long pause stretched between them. 

Zevran did not do well with long silences. 

"So," he started, changing the subject. "How did a fierce mabari wardog get a name like ?"

"My nephew named her, not me," came the curt reply. 

"Ah, so you have siblings?"

"One. Maybe."

He raised an eyebrow, "Maybe?"

"My older brother, Fergus, went on a scouting mission against the Darkspawn. I'm not sure if he's alive anymore. I tried to keep an eye out for him, but in the confusion of Ostagar...I don't know," he smiled. But it was not a happy smile. "At least there's a chance with him, though. Small, but...there."

"You lost family members in the Blight?" he hazarded a guess. 

"No," he growled. "I lost _my entire family_ to a man who was supposed to be an ally. Who was supposed to be my father's oldest friend. Power-grabbing back-stabber took advantage of the Blight to seize the lands that were rightfully my family's and slaughter my house in the process. Profiteering, murderous bastard!"

Cuddles rolled over and put her head in his lap with a whine. 

"I know, I still have you, pup," he said, scratching her ears and collecting himself. "I'm sorry. I was being an ass. And I should not guilt you into staying. Though you are still welcome to, if you want."

"I will not stay."

Two pairs of brown eyes looked up at him. One curious, the other attempting to be neutral. And failing. 

"I understand."

"No, you do not," Zevran continued. "I will not stay as your servant. Nor as your whore. I will, however, stay as your equal. Let me take up arms, and I will fight with you against the Blight."

"I can't do that," he shook his head. "I have seen you fight. You would not last a moment against a darkspawn horde."

"I...was not exactly trying my hardest when I fought you," he admitted.

For once, Cousland was the one surprised by _him_ , "Why not?"

Now it was his turn to smile sadly.

"I...see," he nodded his understanding. Then cleared his throat. "Very well. First thing tomorrow, I will purchase you equipment. _Good_ equipment, not the hand-me-downs you have now. Dalish crafts are considered not without merits, I believe. And weapons, too. If you can demonstrate to me an acceptable proficiency tomorrow when we head deep into the forest, then I will consider having you fight by my side."

"As an equal?"

"We'll see."


	23. Chapter 23

Word traveled fast in the Dalish camp. Yesterday, they had mostly been given looks of curiosity, some of caution. Today, it was outright distrust and hostility, and in Zevran's direction, pity. 

To make matters worse, their shopkeeper, Varathorn, refused to trade with them.

It looked liked he would once again have to stay behind with Sandal and Bodhan. His armor was poor, he did not have a helmet or gloves, and although many of their group owned small utility knives, nothing was combat-ready. He tried to convince Cousland that he could still disarm traps, open locks, make poisons, but he was having none of it. The man just started leading him back to camp like he was defenseless. Which he hated all the more because it was somewhat true. 

"Who comes?" a Dalish woman asked, startled, as they passed by. The woman appeared too worried about her beast to bother with eyeing them like the other Dalish did. She apologized, explaining that she was distracted by her work with halla. 

Cousland asked the herder, Elora, why the one she was tending was separated from the others. She explained that she feared the halla bitten during the werewolf attack, and did not want to risk the others being exposed, but the halla was too agitated for her to "speak" with her and see what was wrong. 

The human knelt, gently rubbing the beast's neck. 

Zevran was just as surprised as Elora was when it worked. His influence calmed her, allowing the woman to communicate with the halla and find out that she was not sick, but worried for her mate. The elf thanked him profusely. 

"I did not think you were the animal type," he commented. 

He smiled wryly, and gave the mabari a couple pats on her side, "Hear that, Cuddles? Apparently, you're not an animal."

Zevran laughed, "That is not what I meant."

"I know," he shrugged. "My brother Fergus used to take me fox hunting. I was shoddy at it, could never quite get the hang of a bow. But I was good with the tracking, with the mabari, with the horses. Survival skills, that sort of thing."

"Listen," Cousland continued, as they reached their campsite. "Do not be disappointed. I'm sure we'll find some supplies going through the forest, we always do. We just don't generally pick up daggers, or armor that's in your size, because no one else can use them. I am certain that you will be able to join us by tomorrow, Zevran."

The human leaned in and pecked him on the cheek, before disappearing into the forest with the others. 

The cheek. 

People did not kiss him on the cheek. They kissed him on the mouth and the throat and the thighs. 

The day before, Cousland had kissed the top of his head, too. 

What a strange man...


	24. Chapter 24

"I appreciate the efforts to be quiet, Master Cousland, but one does not become a Crow by being a heavy sleeper," Zevran said, propping himself up on an elbow. Cousland had taken his pack with him, so he was not wearing his usual nightshirt. Or anything, for that matter. A fact that he deliberately revealed by pulling down the sheets _just enough_ to reveal the tattoo on his hip. Even in the darkness, the contrast was obvious. And, he knew quite well, alluring.

Cousland paused his dis-armoring to raise an eyebrow at him, "I told you before, you do not need to service me for the bar I gave you. Preventing my hide from getting turned into a pincushion makes us even, in my opinion." 

"And what if I am offering to _service_ you because I want to?" he countered. 

The human shucked off the last piece of plate and sat, still fully clothed, at the edge of the bedroll. Zevran had fairly good night vision, but he still could not quite make out the expression on his face, "Apparently, the Dalish have warmed up to me after the halla incident this morning. Varathorn agreed to trade, and we picked up some supplies in the forest as well. I have armor for you, now. Blades. A tent."

"I...never asked you to get me a tent," he said. Had he done something to upset the man? He could not imagine someone like Cousland being passive-aggressive. 

"No, I just...I thought you might prefer privacy, if you would like. You have gained enough of my trust that I no longer feel the need to keep an eye on you," as if _that_ was the real reason they'd been sharing a tent... "So if you want--."

"No, I do not prefer privacy," Zevran interrupted, sitting up fully. He was tempted to stroke his thigh, but the man was so peculiar about being touched. "I'd prefer your company, should you choose to give it."

"And what do you want in return?"

"Do Fereldens always look their gift horses in the mouth?" 

"They do when the horse offers to be ridden for free."

Zevran forced a chuckle. He had no right to feel offended. The only times the two of them had had sex, he had been paid for it. And he had taken it gladly. Of course the Warden would assume there was something he wanted. 

"Ah, but what if the horse _enjoys_ being rid--?"

It was Zevran's turn to be interrupted. And their kiss was _not_ on the cheek this time.


	25. Chapter 25

Cousland had confident, dominant, _hard_ sex. 

But he kissed shyly. Like he was new at it, almost. 

Maybe he was? The man was most certainly not a virgin. But there are whores who refused to be kissed. A boundary, between those they fucked for pleasure, and those they fucked for pay. 

The fact that Cousland was crossing that boundary... Perhaps it meant something. To him, at least. 

The human pulled back, letting out a small breath. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Cuddles started barking. 

Ugh, the mabari barked at _everything_. Especially at night, it seemed. 

He chuckled softly, leaning up again, "Where were we?"

Cousland put a finger to his lips, eyes closed in concentration. 

"Mast--"

"Put some pants on and get on your feet," he ordered, diving for his pack. Cousland pulled out two gorgeous twin blades, silverite, as Zevran obediently shimmied into trousers. "Darkspawn are close. Minutes away, at the most."

He grinned, taking the daggers and giving them a twirl, "I look forward to it."

The two of them went tent to tent, waking people up, stomping out the fire, hoping that the darkspawn would pass them by. Or rather, the rest of them were hoping as such. Zevran for one was spoiling for a fight. He had no shoes, no shirt, no armor, no smalls, and it was colder than ice and darker than Morrigan's humor, but he felt exhilarated. What could he say? He enjoyed showing off. 

Cousland was hissing orders, positioning Sten to guard the dwarves in the center, and the rest of them formed a circle around the camp. Alistiar between the mages, Cousland between him and Leliana. 

His ear twitched. He heard them coming, now. 

"They're in front of us," he whispered. 

"Just the first wave. Second will come from behind, third from the east. I don't feel a fourth group," the _yet_ did not need to be said aloud. 

"The Dalish are to the east..." he said. 

"The darkspawn will likely go around them," Cousland dismissed. "It's us they want. They can sense Wardens, just as we can sense them."

Leliana's bow twanged and something deep in the forest cried out in pain. 

First wave.


	26. Chapter 26

"I think that's the last of them," Alistair said, stomping his foot down on a genlock to dislodge his sword from its still-twitching ribs. It didn't work the first time. 

He tried again, and Morrigan let out a haughty _hah_ as she shifted back to her human form, "Having some difficulties pulling the sword from the stone, mighty warrior?"

"Could you do us all a favor and step in a bear trap, Morrigan?"

"Hush, both of you," Wynne said, crossing over to Leliana. The woman had a grazing wound to forearm, but was otherwise unscathed. The group had sustained a few injuries during the battle (Zevran himself had taken an emissary's ice bolt to his side) but Wynne had expertly healed them as they fought. "Are they really gone?"

The second Warden nodded, "I sense nothing. Alistair is right."

"What a revelation," Morrigan said. Apparently, she did not take too kindly to being hushed. 

"How are your ribs?" the leader asked Zevran, his hand brushing over the pink, newly-healed flesh. 

It stung a little at the contact, but he answered, "Just fine."

Cousland smiled and took his wrist, pulling him over to a tree on the west side of camp, slightly away from the others. And the smell of gore. 

"I am glad to hear that," he said. "I must admit, once again, that I am impressed at your performance."

"Does this mean you are making me your equal, Master Cousland?"

"Not entirely," Zevran's face fell. He had proven himself, had he not? 

"As there are only two Wardens, and Alistair prefers to follow, I have a duty to be a leader to this group," he continued. "But from now on, you are no longer a servant. You will be equal to the others in the group. You will follow my orders, but as my brother-in-arms, as a free man. And you will now refer to me as Warden or Cousland, as the others do. Agreed?"

"Do I still call you 'Master Cousland' in your tent?" he teased. 

The man shook his head, "It would be...inappropriate for a leader to hire his own man as a whore."

"And if I come to you in private as a...friend?"

He paused for a long moment.

"Aedan. In my tent, you can call me Aedan."


	27. Chapter 27

The man slouched back against a tree, relatively hidden from view of camp, and sat down with his legs slightly bent, "Not that we can share a tent now, anyway. Everything's trampled and the sun will be up in a few hours. Not worth it."

"So, just going to sleep out here in the cold Ma--Cousland?"

"It won't be as cold if you join me," he said, spreading his legs and patting his thighs. Zevran smiled and settled down against the man's back, the warmth of his legs on either side of his hips. He felt the Warden's breath on the back of his neck, slowly growing deeper and steadier. Zevran closed his eyes. 

 

o~O~o

 

Any goodwill Cousland had built up the day before had been quashed overnight, it seemed. Varathorn no longer would agree to barter, and many of the people were back to outright glaring at them. Although the darkspawn had mostly not engaged with the Dalish, they had still charged through their camp to get to the Wardens. The elves apparently blamed them for the attack, since darkspawn are drawn to Wardens. Cousland argued that _the Blight_ was to blame, and that the Blight would be stopped faster if they got over their stubbornness and gave him the troops he needed already. 

That had not gone over well. 

Cousland led their little party--Sten, Morrigan, and himself--through the forest and into ancient ruins. He held what looked like a branch for some reason, but Zevran decided not to question that, as it seemed the human was already in a testy mood. 

Some undead, werewolves, and a dragon later, they found themselves face to face with a spirit-woman-plant-werewolf-thing, with extremely strategically placed hair. She pleaded with Cousland to bring Zathrian to her, so that the curse could be ended. 

The Warden shook his head. 

"I have another idea. Kill the elves. Kill Zathrian."

Zevran's eyes widened. He was not...serious, was he? 

"I like this plan," Swiftrunner growled. 

Morrigan flashed a haughty smile, "So do I! I am truly impressed."

"And you would...help us in this?" the Lady asked. "You would attack the Dalish?"

"The Grey Wardens need allies," he responded, face hardened. "I'll take you over them."

"Are you truly going to do this? Slaughter the Dalish?" Zevran interjected. 

"They distrust me, at best. If they are not loyal to me, how can I be expected to lead them into battle?"

"So you would slaughter them instead?" he shook his head. "My mother was Dalish. I hold no allegiance to them but this...does not sit well with me. Do not do this thing, I beg you."

The human took a deep breath then sighed, "Very well. We will bring Zathrian here. Try to find another way."

"Thank you," he said. "I would do as you ask, if you asked it, but...thank you."


	28. Chapter 28

The moon was high and bright in the sky by the time they finally, finally, stumbled back into camp. Cousland let Cuddles into their tent as soon as they laid down, too. Ah, the international symbol for "no sex tonight." 

Though, to be honest, Zevran did not have the energy for it, anyhow. Going to the camp, to the ruins, fighting a dragon, to the camp again, to the ruins again, getting crushed by a giant tree, and returning to the Dalish camp a third time took a lot out of an elf. His entire body ached already, and not in a good way. He dreaded waking up in the morning for the soreness to _really_ kick in. 

Perhaps Wynne would heal him once her mana replenished. Or at the very least, allow him to rest his head on her bosom out of pity. 

Cousland drew him from his thoughts with a peck to the nose. _The nose._ "You made me proud today, Zevran," the human said. 

"I take it you are not going to discipline your newest soldier for insubordination, then, my steadfast leader?" he asked with a tired smile, head tilted coyly to the side. 

"First of all, although, yes, I am your leader, you are not part of the Warden hierarchy. I do not have the authority to discipline you, save for perhaps making you scrub pots or polish armor. And even if I did, I would have to discipline the others in the same way. And I would rather not have Morrigan turn me into a newt and set me on fire, thank you," he answered with such a straight face that Zevran was not sure if it was meant to be a joke or not. "Second of all, I'm fairly certain it defeats the purpose of a flogging or field punishment if you enjoy it. Which I am fairly certain you would."

The man smirked. Now _that_ one he was sure was meant as a joke. 

"You know me well, Aedan," he replied, returning the smile. And the kiss (though on the lips for Maker's sake). 

He closed his eyes. 

But the man kept talking.

"Besides, Lanaya agreed to pledging me troops, at long last. And tactically, the Dalish are a better option, anyway. The werewolves are stronger, but we already have the Redcliff Army forces for melee fighting. We need archers more than anything, and none are better than the Dalish, except Leliana, perhaps. Once they are at full strength, they will be invaluable. If anything, I should be thanking you," he said. 

How in Thedas was the Warden so talkative this late? Even Zevran wasn't, and he could chatter for days if he found someone willing to listen. Grey Warden stamina, apparently. 

"Speaking of thanks," Aedan started, crawling out of bed to get to his pack. "I have something for you. Found it in a chest yesterday, and it slipped my mind until now."

"Gloves? You're giving me gloves?" he asked in confusion as he was handed the item. He was expecting jewels, bars of precious metals, perhaps one of those lovely enchanted phalluses that buzzed... "What for?"

"They're Dalish, like your mother's," the man replied. 

"I..." he examined them further. It was a little hard to tell, but the night was bright enough that he could see the resemblance was uncanny. "Maker's breath, you're right. The leather was less thick and it had more embroidery, but these are very close. And quite handsome." Plus, that was the last piece of armor he was missing. 

Cousland beamed, and that look on his serious face was almost as nice of a present as the gloves, "I am glad you like them. Consider it a gift."

"No one has simply...given me a gift before. Thank you," he said, placing them by his armor at the side of the bedroll. 

The human pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and got back into bed, gathering him in his arms. 

Gifts, cuddling, killing possessed trees...when did he become so domestic? 

When did he stop wishing to die?


	29. Chapter 29

They were back on the road again, about two days' journey from Denerim, when they came across an inn. 

"One round, and then we set up camp," the Warden said as they entered. 

"What, we're not sleeping here?" Alistair asked. "But this is the first inn we've come across in weeks!"

Cousland shook his head, "It's going to be a warm, clear night. I'd rather save our funds for Denerim. There are some excellent craftsmen there. Expensive, however." 

"Warm for you, perhaps," Morrigan said. "Not all of us have the luxury of a lecherous elf in our beds." 

"Ohoho, Morrigan, my dark-haired beauty, that could be arranged," he grinned. 

"For a price, I'm sure," she said. "It is no coincidence that the ring on your thumb appeared after a rather boisterous night with our _leader_. And yet, when it comes to inns, not a copper to spare."

"Have I not kept all of you well-supplied, gotten you superior weapons and armor?" Cousland snapped. "Have I not given each and every one of you gifts as well? Jewelry, books, statuettes, paintings--things of value that I thought you would appreciate?" 

"If I may, Warden," Zevran said calmly, trying to diffuse the situation. He took out the small, silver bar from his pack and set it onto the counter. "How many rooms will this get us?"

"Three," the bartender replied gruffly. 

"Oh, but we have been traveling so long!" Leliana exclaimed. "And I am certain you do not get much business out here. Could you not make it five?" The woman smiled winningly. 

"We ain't got five left. Four is the best I can do," the man relented. "But don't let the mabari make any messes."

"That is very generous of you," Leliana said, and snatched the keys before he changed his mind.

Zevran could not have done it better himself. Perhaps he could get her to teach him some of her bard skills. In exchange for assassin training, perhaps.

"How exactly are we going to divide the rooms?" Alistair asked.. 

"The three women in one, Sandal and Bodahn in another, and the rest of you in the third," the Warden said, taking a key from Leliana. "Figure out for yourselves how to divvy up the beds. I'm not your mother. And unless your lives are in imminent danger, I do not want to hear any complaining until the morning."

Zevran followed him up the stairs, purring in his ear, "Have I mentioned how much I enjoy it when you are so... _commanding_?"

The human opened the door, shoving him inside, and then locked it behind him with a half-smile. 

"No, but I had a feeling."


	30. Chapter 30

Cold metal pinned him up against the door, holding his wrists above his head. The moment stretched long as Aedan's gray eyes practically bored into his skull, studying him. 

"What would you have of me, Master Cousland?" he asked.

The Warden raised an eyebrow, "I thought I said you did not have to refer to me as such."

"But I want to," he insisted. "Not around the others, perhaps, but alone..."

"So, it's truly not an act, then? Not something you tolerate just to appease me?" the grip on him tightened, metal digging into flesh. "You _enjoy_ being dominated."

"I do."

"Is it my race? My height?" the man mused. 

"That is part of it, I think, but it is mostly your demeanor," he answered frankly. "I have enjoyed playing the dominating role with human men before. Men even larger than you, once or twice. Ah, that reminds me of the time with a particularly domineering woman who loved to see her husband taken by another man. He loved it, too, of course. Prostate stimulation and such."

"Prostate stimulation?" the man let go of his arms, taking a step back, his head tilted. 

Zevran chuckled, "I take it you have never been on the, for lack of a better term, _receiving_ end, hmm?"

"Of course not!" He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Some men could be so closed-minded about such things. 

"You are missing out," he said. "You have seen me respond to penetration, have you not? The prostate it a large part of the reason why. For men, at least. For women, the anatomy is a little different, but apparently they can enjoy it just as much, if Isabela is to be believed. Which she isn't, for all matters except sex."

"Isabela?"

"Oh, an old friend of mine."

"And she is just as skilled as you?"

He clutched his heart as if devastated, "Oh, Master Cousland, you wound me!" then he grinned. "But yes, yes I'd say she is."

Cousland returned the smile, "I sincerely hope I'll meet her someday, then."

"You would be up for some...group fun then, perhaps?"

The man nodded, "Of course."

"I would think you too possessive for such things," he commented. "Not that I am not excited by the idea."

"Any other ideas that excite you?"

Was that him asking for suggestions? Another surprise. Cousland was turning out more open-minded than he'd thought. 

"Well, for many partners that enjoy domination and submission," he started. "The dominating partner collars the submissive at the beginning of play, and releases them at the end. Easier to signal boundaries that way, and for the respective partners to ease into and out of their roles."

"Like a dog collar?"

"Not exactly, but you could think of it that way," he said. "The way the partners address each other could also change during this time as well. For example, I could call you Master Cousland, and you could call me slave or servant or elf, if you wish."

Aedan nodded, listening intently, then slung off his pack, digging around until he produced a worn, black leather collar. It could fit around his waist, almost. Must have been one of Cuddles' old ones. The mabari was most likely pressed up against the door right about now--alternating between whining in self-pity and growling at passersby. 

"I will get you your own once we've reached the city," he said. "But will this do for now?"

"Yes, nicely."

The human wrapped it twice around his neck and fastened it tight. 

"Strip down, elf," he commanded.


	31. Chapter 31

The gloves were the first item he removed. Pulling at the tip of each finger before sliding them off his hands. Next, his leathers. Slowly, taking his time at each clasp, making a show of it to please him. 

After all, how many more chances at a bed was he likely to have in the coming months? Probably very few. 

There was a certain degree of thrill involved in strip teasing for an armed man in full plate. But he was not afraid.

He trusted Master Cousland. 

Not the silly, romanticized version of trust, where the blushing virgin lies back and spreads her legs coyly and accepts her lover into her arms. 

Of course not. 

No, Zevran trusted Master Cousland because Master Cousland was a practical man. And practical men did not throw away valuable resources. He did not delude himself into thinking his words had changed the Warden's mind about the Dalish. He spared the Dalish because they needed archers. He said so himself. 

Same with the mages, or so he had been told. Mages had an enormous amount of firepower, and they could heal the sick and wounded. He saved them because they were useful, not out of some fairy tale ideal of mercy. 

Zevran himself had only been allowed to live as a source of free labor. Once the human had deemed him more useful as a fighter than a servant, that role had shifted. There was no sentimentality involved. 

But, back to his original point. He did not fear the Grey Warden. The man may have a light taste for inflicting pain (what good warrior didn't?), but it would be a waste for him to maim or kill Zevran. So he knew he wouldn't. Not as long as he proved useful. 

His boots were the last to come off. 

Master Cousland ordered him to turn around and clasp his arms behind his back, gripping his elbows. Rope was bound around his forearms and then looped just beneath his collar, forcing his spine to arch. 

To an outsider, this position would be thought of as vulnerable. But they'd be wrong. 

Even as his mouth was crammed with a gag that tasted of sweat and his hips grabbed to straddle the man's barely-exposed lap, he was not vulnerable. 

Even as he was stretched and filled and fucked, he was not vulnerable. 

Even as those large hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed until his vision swam and his cock jerked, he was not vulnerable. 

 

~o~O~o~

 

Aedan lay sound asleep next to him. Shirtless. Warm. Snoring, though not as loud as Cuddles was. The beast reminded him of that damn dragon in the ruins, practically. 

The man had cleaned him off, gotten him water, asked him about his times with the Crows, and kissed him in that shy way that so sharply contrasted with how they fucked. 

All was calm, yet he felt an ache in the pit of his stomach. 

He should tell him. About her.


	32. Chapter 32

As it turned out, that was easier said than done. 

For one thing, as much as he prided himself in being easygoing, this was not _exactly_ the type of story mentioned casually in idle conversation. 

And once he got Cousland into bed, well, the man was not exactly interested in talking. He was interested in prostate stimulation. Specifically, he was interested in tying his wrists to his ankles fingering him until he found it, then trying to find it with his dick as well. And who was he to deny their intrepid leader some respite before tackling Ferelden's capital city (which translated to the largest den of thieves and thugs the country had to offer) the very next day? 

Especially since the man _reeked_ of nobility. He might as well have a sign on his back reading, "I'm rich, please cut my purse." 

Luckily, with his rather intimidating presence (which admittedly was slightly lessened by the presence of an old lady and a fidgeting blond man discussing the darning of socks), only the stupid would try. 

Or the desperate. 

The elf girl cowered from them. Dirty and wide-eyed. She looked five, but was likely older. Just short from malnutrition. 

"Please don't take a finger, ser, I'm sorry, ser, it won't happen again, I swear!"

"Where are your parents?" he asked, face stern. 

"The Alienage, ser. I went outside to catch fish by the river and when I came back, they wouldn't let me in."

He tossed her a silver. 

Zevran's first thought was that she was telling a sob story so she wouldn't get in trouble. It's what he would have done. But no, they'd heard others talking about the Alienage being closed off. It might actually be true. 

Wynne praised him for his charity. However, Zevran could not help but think that as soon as other pickpockets saw her prize, they would mug her. She probably would have been better off with half of that.

Alistair's sister, the following stop on the itinerary, was not given a penny. Good. He was starting to think the practical Warden had gone soft.

The rest of the day was spent beating thugs for coin. Cousland was right, the prices here were exorbitant, they could use the money.

"One more, and then we'll return to camp," Cousland said. 

"Why return to camp at all?" Zevran smirked. "I'm sure the working men and women will be glad not to have to deal with the ruffians. Might even give us a discount."

"I will see what they have to offer," he answered frankly. "It would not be the first time."

Ah, yes, he had suspected as much.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Alistair muttered. 

The mage made no comment but her wrinkled eyes said it all. 

The disreputable mercenaries, as it turned out, did not even need to be fought with. A harsh word and a glare from Cousland was enough to send them running with their tails between their legs. 

"Stop playing games, Isabela. We want our money!"

Zevran turned just in time to see his favorite pirate dispatch some hapless marks and send them running, as well. 

"And look who we have here. Come to apologize for leaving me bereft of my lord husband and then vanishing without a trace?" 

"You know it was just business, Isabela. Business that turned out well for you, I see--you inherited the ship, I take it?"

"Hmph. I suppose I never did like the greasy bastard."

 _Greasy_ did not begin to cover it. 

"Is this the same Isabela you told me about?" the Cousland asked. 

"Ah, how rude of me!" Zevran said. "Yes, this is indeed Isabela, queen of the eastern seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn. And Isabela, my dear, this is Aedan Cousland. A Grey Warden."

"A Grey Warden? Charmed."

Cousland smiled, taking her hand and kissing it, "A pleasure. I can appreciate a woman who knows her way around a blade. Would you perhaps be willing to teach me those impressive skills of yours?"

Where did _that_ come from? He did not exactly think of the human as smooth. Although, he had the impression that Zevran was the first man he'd ever been with. Perhaps with women, he had more experience. 

"I am flattered, sweet thing. It would take years to truly master being a duelist, but I could teach you the basics, and you could pass them on to someone with a bit more finness rather than strength," she replied. "I do, however, wish to get to know my potential student better first. Shall we have a drink? A game of cards?"

"I would rather go somewhere private and get to know you better in another way."

"Oooh, now that is a _delicious_ offer. And what about you, Zev? Shall we, for old times' sake?"

"Ah, Isabela. You and your ridiculous appetites," he smiled, then looked over at Aedan. "I'm game."

The human leaned into his ear, "I wouldn't have it any other way."


	33. Chapter 33

For a man so open to casual group sex, Cousland was still...finicky? peculiar? selective? about being touched. Every morning, Zevran would assist him in putting on his armor, but every night, the man stripped it off himself (strange, how most people tended to do the reverse of that). Now was no different. It took a bit longer that way, but he was still remarkably fast at removing his outer shell when he was motivated. 

And it appeared that Aedan was quite motivated by tits, ass, and specialization training.

As for him and Isabela, they were playing a little game called Find the Dagger. By the time they were both completely naked, he had found four of hers, and she had found six of his. Of course, he only had five blades on his person. 

She sat perched on the edge of the cheesy red velvet bedspread, legs wide and head tilted as he kissed the side of her neck. The woman was usually all about hard, fast, and dirty. But today, she toyed with him. 

"Ooooh, is that a collar you're getting out?" Isabela asked. His back was to the Warden, but he had no doubt that yes, yes it was. "For which one of you?"

"That would be me, my dear," he said, pulling back. Zevran removing her hand from his fifth blade and planted a kiss to her palm.

Isabela flashed a mischievous grin. "Can I be the one to put it on you?"

"You would have to ask Master Cousland for that honor," he said, twisting his head to look at him. 

" _Master_ Cousland, huh? So that's how it is? And who am I in this little game you're playing?"

"I think Queen Isabela would be fitting, don't you?" the human pressed himself against his back, his arousal apparent against his ass. He casually handed her the collar. "And go right ahead. I can deny a beautiful woman nothing."

The leather was promptly wound around his neck and fastened tight, making him keenly aware of his fading bruises. Soon he predicted he'd have fresh ones. 

"Fitting indeed," she said, laying back on the bed, propping her feet up on the side and putting her hands behind her head expectantly. "The queen demands homage."

"You heard her, whore," Cousland growled, pressing down on his shoulders until he got down on his knees. "Worship her."

Zevran did not need to be told twice. His hands at her hips, he kissed his way from knee to inner thigh, only to go back and repeat his actions on the other leg. Two could play at teasing.

The bed shifted as Cousland settled himself next to her, cupping her breasts and nibbling at one ear. She moaned her appreciation (ever the vocal one) and Zevran could no longer contain himself. 

With a long, slow stroke he laved his tongue up her pussy. 

She tasted just as good as he remembered. 

 

_((If anyone has suggestions or requests, now is a good time~))_


	34. Chapter 34

Zevran continued to lap at her, loving how wet he was making her. Loving how when he'd pause for a moment to circle his tongue around her clit, she would squirm beneath him. There were few things as sexy as a woman bucking her hips and squeezing her thighs around you. 

He glanced up to see the woman gripping Aedan by the hair, forcing his mouth to her breasts. Strange how Cousland would not even allow him the use of his hands most of the time, but he seemed to actually enjoy her clinging to him. Perhaps his penchant for dominance only applied to other men? 

Well, as long as he had his hands free, he might as well put them to use, no? 

Plunging two fingers into her, feeling that gorgeous wet heat, and bending the digits forward to draw out a moan. He had enough experience with Isabela to tell she was getting close. 

Zevran stroked her inside with quick, little curling motions and lowered his head back down to suck at her clit. 

That did it. 

She shouted, her hips grinding into his face as she pulsed and twitch, riding out her climax. 

He sat back on his heals and wiped himself off with his hand, "How was that for worship, Queen Isabela?"

"It was a pretty good start, sweet thing. But I want more from you than just your tongue and fingers, as lovely as they are," she replied, grinning down at him. Then she exchanged glances with Cousland. "And it would be a shame to let an endowment like yours go to waste."

"Both of us at once?" Aedan started. 

"Yes, I was thinking one in the front end, one in the back. Your choice for who goes where," she winked, stroking one hand along his bicep. "And I take The Potion daily, don't you worry about that."

"In that case, I'll take the front, my queen," he said, planting a kiss on her shoulder. "Bed-slave, go fetch the lubricant. And don't get up from your knees."

"Yes, Master Cousland," he bowed, not even trying to hide his smile. As much as he liked being penetrated, it had been far too long since he'd been on the giving end. Zevran crawled over to the bottomless pit that was Aedan's pack and after a bit of digging retrieved the vial.

By the time he got back, Isabela was already on top and lowering herself onto him. He settled in behind her and pressed an oiled finger to her backside. 

"May I, Master Cousland? Queen Isabela?"

"You may," they said together. 

 

_((Going to fade to black here unless there are any requests or something.))_


	35. Chapter 35

The man propped himself up on one arm, bringing himself chest-to-chest with Isabela. Who was actually silent during sex for once. Apparently the Warden had quite literally taken the words out of her mouth. Either that, or the more likely scenario of her focusing on relaxing enough to take them. Even Isabela needed some time to adjust to two men at once. Especially when one of the men was as large as Cousland. He could feel him _through_ her for Maker's sake. And it felt good. Fantastic. 

"You look gorgeous, my queen," he said, kissing the side of her neck. Aedan gave him a deliberate look across her shoulder. "Are you ready for more?"

"I'm hardly a delicate little teacup, sweet thing," she said, though the slight strain of her voice betrayed her. "I can take whatever you can give."

The three of them started rocking together. Not exactly a slow pace, but a deliberate one. 

Oh, Maker. It really had been far too long. For weeks, his cock had barely had any direct stimulation and now... 

A strong, callused hand grasped his ass, urging him faster. Zevran squeezed his eyes tight, concentrating on not coming too soon. He wanted to cling to Cousland, claw his nails down his back, but he was not sure if that was allowed. He dug his fists into the velvet instead. 

He took a shuddering breath. Brasca, the human was making him inelegant. Did the Crows teach him nothing? He was better than this. 

Zevran relaxed his grip, running his hands down Isabela's sides instead, nipping at her neck. _She_ had no problem with him touching her, after all. 

He matched Cousland's quickened pace, thrust for thrust, all the while pleasuring the pirate queen with expert precision. 

The man leaned over her shoulder, kissing him too-briefly, and that semblance of control came undone. He gave himself over to the pleasure, kissing and biting and touching and crying out how he wanted, how he felt like doing until the three of them collapsed together into a sweaty, sated pile. 

Cousland had an arm around her, and an arm around him. He kissed her just bellow the collar bone, "You are an impressive woman, Isabela."

"You're not half bad yourself," Isabela said with a wicked smile, panting for breath. She leaned over him to undo Zevran's collar. He hadn't realized just how tight it was until it was taken off. Yes, he would definitely sport a light bruise tomorrow. "Threesomes are the best, aren't they? It's a shame I don't get many chances of them, what with being at sea all the time. Now that I think of it, my last one was actually with you as well, wasn't it, Zevran? With that elf woman, the one with the pretty brown eyes? What was her name, again? Rita, Rhianna?"

"Ah, another special friend of yours? Wouldn't mind getting to know her as well," Cousland pinched him playfully. But he could feel the afterglow drain from him.

"Rinna," he said flatly. "Her name was Rinna."

The man's eyebrows furrowed, "Zevran?"

"What did I..." Isabela started, sensing the tension at last. She got up, slipping on her boots and starting on her armor, speaking quickly. "I should go. I'll teach you the basics of Dueling, like I said. It was nice playing with the two of you. We should do this again sometime."

With that, she was out the door, clothes askew. 

"Zevran?" Aedan repeated, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead in a way that was far too familiar, far too tender, for their arrangement. 

"Unfortunately, getting to know her isn't exactly possible," he said, pulling away. "She's no longer among the living, you see."


	36. Chapter 36

Zevran got dressed and armored quickly. Cousland followed suit, without his help for once. The man didn't ask, and he didn't offer.

"I believe that I should return to camp," he said abruptly, his voice even since they were approaching earshot of the others. He could not discuss this now, even if they weren't present. Not with the smell of sex still fresh. 

"I'll go with you," the Warden offered, with the same level of control.

He shook his head, "You earned a lesson from her. Do not squander the opportunity." An excuse, and both of them knew it.

"Will you be in our tent when I get back?" 

He nodded, then slunk off into the shadows without another word. Thankfully, the man had enough sense not to try to stop him.

 

~o~O~o~

 

"--with gold embroidery. It should be cut low in the front of course, we don't want to hide your features," Leliana rambled on.

"Stop looking at my breasts like that," Morrigan said, pulling at the front of her robe to cover herself more fully. "'Tis most disturbing!" 

Usually Zevran would have a thing or two to say on such raunchy topics of conversation, but he merely smiled wryly to himself, got his supper (and a bowl for Aedan, too), and retired to their tent. He left Cuddles outside, much to her indignation. 

"What's the matter with him?" Leliana was whispering, but apparently underestimated the hearing of elven ears. "Lover's quarrel?"

"That's no concern of mine. Nor yours," came the reply. 

Sometimes, he actually liked that woman.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The tent flap opened, and he put aside the daggers he was polishing (no, that was not a metaphor). 

"Zevran."

"Aedan."

"So. This woman Rinna," the man said bluntly, taking a seat. "Tell me."

Such an Aedan-like way to start this. No "if you're ready." No "are you alright?". Just... "Tell me." 

Very well. He had danced around and avoided the subject long enough. 

"My last mission before this one...did not end well," he explained. "I was so...cocky. Arrogant. I boasted that I was the best Crow in Antiva, much to the annoyance of one of the Masters. But, to my surprise, instead of punishment, I received the bid of an incredibly difficult mark. An honor, or so I thought."

"Rinna," he said. "Was one of the members of my team, along with Taliesen. She was an elven lass and, as Isabela described, she had the most beautiful brown eyes, but on top of that she was...a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked. Everything I thought I wanted."

He paused, but the Warden remained silent and expressionless, nodding for him to continue. 

"I had closed off my heart, I thought. Such is the way, the necessity of the Crows. But she touched something within me. It frightened me. When Taliesen revealed that she had taken a bribe from the mark, betrayed the Crows, betrayed me, I believed without question. Let him kill her. Even as she begged me on her knees, tears in her eyes, insisting that she was innocent, proclaiming her love for me, I laughed in her face. Told her I had never cared for her, anyway."

"But that wasn't true," Cousland said. Again, not a question. A statement. And a correct one.

"I convinced myself it was. As she bled out, I spat at her," he replied. "Of course, after killing the mark, we found out the true source of his information. Rinna had been guilty of no disloyalty. Yet, the Crows could not have cared less about her death or her innocence. The master that disliked me? He told me so to my face. Told me that one day my turn would come as well. To them, she was nothing. I was nothing."

Cousland let him speak without interruption, now. The words flowed from him like water. No. Like poison from a lanced wound. 

"You know that when we first met, when I ambushed you, I pulled my punches," he continued. He could not hold the man's piercing gaze any longer. "The truth was, I wanted to die."

The man waited patiently, making certain he had said what he'd needed to say, then prompted, "And you no longer want to?"

"No. This...you...happened. What I want now is to begin again," he answered honestly. "I owe you so much."

Their foreheads brushed together and their lips met. Brief. Intimate. 

They stripped each other. Laid skin against skin. But they did not have sex. No, Cousland just...just held him. Like something precious. 

"You are not nothing. You were never nothing," Aedan murmured into his hair. "And you don't owe me one damned thing. I am glad you are here, Zevran. That I get to be with you."

"Even when we will surely be torn apart by darkspawn?" Zevran attempted a smile. 

" _Especially_ when we will surely be torn apart by darkspawn."


	37. Chapter 37

The Broodmother had been slayed. Bhelen had been crowned (such a pretty thing, he was sad to see it go, but he supposed it was worth it for the support of a dwarven king). And now both dwarves and golems were added to their forces. Oh, and Oghren as well. Though he may end up costing them more in drink than he earned in fighting power. 

Another benefit for being in the dwarven king's debt was _beds_. Soft, luxurious beds stuffed with not hay, but down feathers and covered with furs. Must have cost a fortunate, considering all the birds would have had to been imported from the surface world. 

And the baths! Five Qunari could bathe comfortably in the private tub adjacent to their room. There must be lavish dwarven orgies for baths this big to ever be needed. Or perhaps it was simply a show of power of the ruling class. Either way, the end result was the same. 

Zevran rubbed the oil between his hands, warming it before he applied it gently to Aedan's shoulders. He groaned, laying his head down on his arms, which were crossed on the edge of the tub. 

"Is this alright, dear Warden?" he prompted. 

Cousland nodded. His eyes had drifted closed, and Zevran could not help but smile. The man was so peculiar about being touched, but apparently the offer of a massage after a month of sleeping on stone had been enough to assuage his aversion. 

"We're getting towards the end," he said. "All the treaties have been honored. Our armies are growing more prepared each day."

"Hmmm..." he hummed, noncommittally. Zevran applied pressure up and down his spine, trying to dispel the thoughts of war from him. He deserved a little dose of respite. Tomorrow, they would be on their way back to Denerim, to sort out yet another royal matter. Although they would be making a short stop in the middle of the Darkspawn-infested southern lands to kill Morrigan's mother, apparently. 

"It's a good thing, too. The Archdemon...it's close to appearing. I can sense it, in my dreams," the normal, cool confidence in his voice gave way to worry. He felt his muscles stiffen under his hands.

Dreams. More like nightmares. Cousland had gotten the first one not long after leaving Denerim. And the Deep Roads had seemed to exacerbate the issue.

Zevran planted a kiss on the side of his neck--more to pull him from his thoughts than to tempt him into something more intimate. He was obviously still somewhat nervous about this, hence the sudden talkativeness, so he knew he had to take it slow. Strange, how he had charged dragons and broodmothers without a thought, but was hesitant in this. 

"You must clear your mind in order for this to relax you, Aedan," he berated, getting more oil. He did not have his new collar on, so no _Master Cousland_. Not tonight. 

"Alright," the man conceded with a sigh. His shoulders relaxed a little. "I trust you."


	38. Chapter 38

By the time they returned to Denerim, Zevran had _almost_ fully recovered from his burns. Flemeth was apparently a little harder to kill than the average elderly woman. Big surprise. 

Luckily, as soon as they stepped into the city, it was nothing but sunshine, drink, and wild sex.

Ahahaha. No.

The Queen, according to her "handmaiden," was being held against her will by Howe. Which just _reeked_ of trap to Zevran. And although they found her right away, she was imprisoned in a magical barrier, which Wynne was incapable of dispelling. 

So now they were looking for the responsible mage. But all they were finding were naked Grey Wardens and prisoners (and not the fun kind). 

"There was an elven rebellion?" Cousland questioned the next prisoner in line. The human, Vaughan, claimed to be the Arl before Howe took his rank by force during said elven rebellion. "When was this? I thought they closed it off because of the plague."

"Does it look like I am privy to that kind of information in here? I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a plague, though. You know how elves are. Filthy things. Every now and then they start to think they're people. And you have to put them back in their proper place." At that last line, he looked pointedly at Zevran. "I cannot believe you let yours carry a weapon."

"Not to worry," he said. "I keep my knife-ear on a tight leash."

Zevran took a step back, shocked. It was like the pit of his stomach had dropped down to his feet. Even in the beginning, Cousland had never used that slur. Or any slur, for that matter. "Elf," yes, but nothing like that. 

For a moment, he felt doubt. Had the past few months been a lie? Had he let himself be manipulated all this time? 

No. No, he didn't believe it. Cousland was not stupid. He had worked to gain Zevran's loyalty, he would not throw it away in an off-hand remark.

"I think you and I can come to a gentleman's agreement, can't we?" Cousland continued. "This key you mentioned before, give it to me, and I'll let you out. Just to let me see that it is real, you understand. After all, I did fight my way in here. I deserve compensation."

It all clicked into place. The key, the money. _That_ was what he was after. He was manipulating the other human into thinking they were alike, so that he'd trust him. 

"Of course," Vaughan said, handing it over. 

True to his word, the Warden opened the door for him. 

And promptly seized him by the hair, pulling his head back to bear his throat. 

"Wh-what are you doing? We had a deal!"

"I said I'd let you out, and I did," he replied. His eyes met Zevran's. "Now I think it's time _you_ were put in your place. Zev, would you like to do the honors?"

He pulled out one of his daggers and held it to the prisoner's jugular. The human's struggling stilled, his desire not to get cut outweighing his anger. "It would be my pleasure, Grey Warden."

"No..." Vaughan said in a hoarse whisper, eyes wide in fear and disbelief. 

Without another word, he slit his throat.

"Well, I don't think he'll be missed, but why did you bother making a deal with the key if you were just going to kill him, anyway?" Alistair asked, stepping back to prevent his shoes soaking through with blood. 

"He made it personal," Aedan replied, kicking the body away in disgust.


	39. Chapter 39

_((Technically, with the layout of the dungeon you would probably meet Soris before Vaughan in the game, but fuck it.))_

 

The following room held a pathetic, naked, human man behind bars. It sounded like he was a veteran of Ostagar. But his mind had clearly been broken in the aftermath. Cousland killed him quickly out of mercy, asking Wynne to dull the pain as he died.

"What...month is it?" a voice behind them asked. They turned to see a red-headed elf in the next cell, hanging off of the bars for support. "Are you some enemy of Arl Urien's? Please, I feel like I've spent half my life down here."

"Not exactly. Arl Urien has been dead for months," Cousland replied, opening the door.

"Dead?" he seemed confused. "Then, who's ruling...His son, Vaughan, he struck me down and I woke up here."

"Vaughan is dead as well. I killed him," he replied. "I take it you were part of this elven rebellion?"

"He...I was supposed to get married. It was my wedding day, but Vaughan and his drunken friends...took her. I don't know what they did to her, or if she's even alive anymore. Or Shianni, my cousin, I...I need to find out what happened." Despite his clear weakness, most likely caused by severe malnutrition, if not active beatings, he was getting more and more distressed as he spoke. His voice started to crack.

Zevran doubted either of those women were alive. If this Vaughan was not above kidnap and rape, he doubted he was above murdering elves for sport. There was no challenge, no art in killing those who could not fight back. 

"Hold on, elf," Cousland said, getting out a waterskin and handing it to him. "Here. Drink some water, calm down, then tell me your name." 

He seemed hesitant at first, perhaps expecting to be poisoned or drugged, then drank greedily. 

"Thank you for your aid, stranger. My name is Soris," he said, trying to give it back. The human waved him off. 

"Keep it. And it's Cousland," he said, extending his hand for him to shake. "I have killed most of the guards, I believe. You are free to go."

"Thank you," he repeated. "I wish I had more than gratitude to offer."

Cousland watched him leave, "As soon as the Queen is safe, we're going to the Alienage and figuring out what in the Void is going on there, locked or not." 

 

~o~O~o~

"Well, well. Bryce Cousland's little boy, all grown up, and still trying to fit into daddy's armor," the graying human was surrounded by guards-- two of them mages. This must be Howe. Charming. "I thought Loghain made it clear that your pathetic family is gone and forgotten."

"Your betrayal will cost you your life," Aedan said, voice low. Then he raised it to a shout. "Finish off the rest of them, Howe dies by my hand!"

The fight erupted and Zevran slipped into the shadows to backstab one of the mages. His knife glanced off a rib, missing the heart he'd been aiming for. But the poisoned tip stunned him, leaving him open for a second strike to the back of the neck. This time, the man fell. 

The smell of ozone filled the air as the second mage arced lightning at him. He dodged out of the way, only his off-hand getting struck with pain. But Wynne's cooling magic soothed the wound as soon as it was made. 

He rushed at the other mage, flitting across the field of battle and ducking under arrows. He interrupted the man's next spell with a slice across the face. The stunning failed, but a Smite from Alistair did not. As the man cried out in pain, Zevran drove his blade into his throat. 

Cousland was battling Howe, one-on-one. With the mages taken care of, and Alistair's taunting keeping most of the others distracted, all Zevran had to do was pick off the three that were trying to flank Aedan, then defend Wynne from stragglers as she blasted the archers.

The last guard fell, and Cousland sent Howe to the ground with a massive pommel strike to the sternum. He could hear the cracking of bone. The Arl's weapon clattered out of reach. 

"Maker spit on you!" he cursed, clutching his chest. "I...deserved...more!"

Aedan removed his helmet, wiping the sweat from his brow. A streak of red was left behind. His expression was not triumphant. Or angry. If anything he looked...

He looked sad. 

"Collect the gold, anything of value," he said after a moment, cleaning off his sword before sheathing it. "Then we'll move on."


	40. Chapter 40

Anora was probably the least grateful person they'd freed that day. Save for Vaughan, of course. Yet, he did not blame her. Just being free from the room did not make her free entirely--especially not when her own father was at least indifferent to her capture, if not an active participant.

Cousland seemed to be thinking what he was thinking, gruffly ordering everyone to follow the second she was freed. 

They barely got more than ten feet when his early suspicions of a trap proved correct. An important-looking woman with pretty much half a battalion greeted them with a generous offer of surrender yourself or fight. 

Surprisingly, however, Cousland chose to allow himself (and Alistair) to be arrested. According to him, because killing the guards would prove true all the lies Loghain had spread about the Grey Wardens. At least, that is what he claimed verbally. He suspected there were other reasons. 

Zevran did not object, despite his fears for his safety. Aedan most likely had some sort of master plan in mind. The Warden was wily that way. 

...but just in case, best to stage a rescue operation anyway, no? 

They decided to regroup at Arl Eamon's estate (since they needed to get Anora to a secure location, anyway). There, they had a choice. They could either take everyone and attempt to siege the most well-guarded fort in the country or they could go for a more subtle route--a two-person party could slip by most of the guards, perhaps posing as delivery people. 

They went for the latter. 

"We need a rogue, of course," Zevran said. "Someone who can slip into the shadows, pick pockets, unlock doors, that sort of thing. I should go."

"I have those same skills, too, you know. You just want to be the one to dash in and save your boyfriend," Leliana teased. "I think it's sweet."

"Yes, yes, let's waste time discussing love affairs when the Wardens are in the hands of the enemy," Morrigan said. "So who should be the second one to go?"

Wynne spoke up, "I will. One or both of them could need healing," she smiled wryly. "Plus, I do not think they will suspect a surprise attack from an old woman."

"Then it is settled," Arl Eamon said. 

 

~o~O~o~

 

"State your business," the guard at the door said, sounding bored. 

"The Ladies of Denerim have sent a gift for the hardworking soldiers of Fort Drakon: Several hundred lovely knitted scarves," Wynne replied. Not bad. Seemed harmless. However, with the lack of urgency, it may not be enough to get them through the doors. 

"That's...ah, that's very nice, ma'am, but nobody told us it was coming."

"We can hardly take this back. Two dozen little old ladies are not a force to be trifled with, my friend," Zevran said. They both knew it would not look good to have a bunch of elderly women at the gates, getting in the way of things and utterly ruining any sense of intimidation the fort held. 

The man sighed, "Fine, wait over there. I'll get the captain."

"There! Not so difficult, was it?" he said in an aside to Wynne. 

"We're not inside yet."

"Ah, but you can hardly doubt that we soon will be," he reassured (her as well as himself). 

Wynne gave him a stern look, "Just try not to get carried away."

"All right, what's this about?" another man, apparently the captain, asked. 

"A delivery. For which I have still not been paid, by the way." No one liked to deal with people demanding money. They would rather push it to the next person. 

"No one told me about any deliveries today."

Okay, so that tactic did not exactly work. How about embarrassment? 

"I cannot imagine why not. Surely your commanding officer informs you whenever he is having items of a _personal_ nature delivered to him?"

"What is--no, I don't want to know. Go on in." Worked like a charm.

Unfortunately, the entrance to the dungeons was guarded as well. But a simple distraction regarding a ballista (which for some reason was indoors) was enough to let them slip by. 

"And this is where we dispense with charm and subterfuge," he noted. "These guards will know we have no business here."

Except, in the next room, there were no guards. Or, rather, they were there, just not alive. He knew the bit about not wanting to kill guards was a load of phooey. Alistair and Aedan were in the center of it all, free of obvious injuries and with their weapons and armor intact. A wave of relief washed over him, and he grinned, "Ah, my dear Warden, did you miss me?"

The Warden did not banter back at him, just embraced him.

Alistair cleared his throat loudly, "Right. So, let's get going, shall we?"


	41. Chapter 41

"My queen, it pleases me to see you free and unharmed," the Warden bowed as he entered Arl Eamon's office.

"We have prayed for your safe return, Warden," she replied. Eamon agreed. 

"We will need to work together, and quickly. My father has gone mad," she continued. Going straight to business, it appeared. "I did not believe it at first, but he is gripped by a paranoia so severe it prevents him from seeing sense. He saw me as a threat, yet even now I am certain he will be telling the nobles of how you kidnapped and mind-controlled me. He may even believe it."

"Do you believe he will try to seize the throne from you?"

"Perhaps. It will be difficult for him. But if my father says the Grey Wardens are the enemy, many will believe it. He is a legend."

"It's true," Arl Eamon said. "Our position in the Landsmeet is not strong."

"Then we will strengthen it," Cousland's voice was determined. "I am not just a Warden, but nobleborn. My family, as you know, has allies, and I have no doubt I can persuade and make deals to create more. Especially with your help," he looked pointedly at the queen and then the Arl. "However, there is another matter at hand which I would like to discuss. It has been many weeks since I last set foot in Denerim. What is this I hear of an elven rebellion?"

"There has been turmoil since Ostagar, many people are angry or grieving. Strangely, few elves accompanied the army, yet the Alienage had the worst unrest. They should have little reason to be upset. Which means that Howe and my father must have given them reason."

"So you have heard nothing of the plague? Or Vaughan?"

"Arl Urien's son?" Eamon raised an eyebrow. "What of him?"

"By his own admission, before his timely death, he was trying to _put the elves in their place_. One report said he was kidnapping elven women. I believe we can all guess what for," he said, pausing for effect. "These abuses could have been happening for years, decades even, adding fuel for the fire that your father, or Howe, lit."

"What do you propose?" Anora asked.

"The Alienage should be declared its own Bannorn, and an elf should take the seat of Bann," he said. "I know that I am not a native of Denerim, but I have been taught since birth the art of politics and I know that I would also rebel in their position. Long-term, this is the best way to have a real chance at peace in the city."

That was...unexpected. Most nobleborns, upon hearing problems with elves, would elect to crack down even harder, much less seek to give them representation. It could prove an unpopular move to say the least. But in the long-term, yes, he could see it as stabilizing. If Ferelden even had a long-term, that is.

The room stayed silent for a long moment, "Once the Landsmeet is decided, and if a suitable candidate can be found, then I will see what I can do. The other districts may push to be declared Bannorns as well."

"And I see no reason why they cannot be," he said. "All the other Arls have Banns to help rule, why not in Denerim, as well?"

"The man brings up a fair point," Eamon agreed. "But these are all considerations for the future. We still need to gain evidence against Loghain, first."

"And also a stronger candidate for the throne," Anora added. "Even with Alistair's blood, he is no king. I am what this country needs, not an untrained ruler who does not even want the throne."

"No argument there," Alistair muttered under his breath. "Not that anyone listens to me."

"I can help you stop my father," she continued. "Consider what I have said. For now, I think I will retire to my room. Warden, when you have a moment, I ask that you speak to me in private."

The woman and her handmaiden departed. 

"Be careful, Warden," Eamon said. "This is an alliance of convenience."

"I am more than aware of that, Arl," Aedan said calmly. "Enough of this, it is growing late and tomorrow I plan on sorting out what is happening with the Alienage. I think Anora had the right idea in retiring. Zevran?"

He followed the man to his room and eagerly started tugging at his armor, only for Cousland to grab his hands. 

"Not now," he shook his head, grim. "There is something I wish you speak with you about."


	42. Chapter 42

"There is something I feel I need to do," the man sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to him. Zevran sighed and took a seat as well. 

He knew that tone. This was the it's-not-you-it's-me speech. He made it a point to never demand anything from his sexual partners, however some chose to end things, anyway. This was not unusual. Perhaps he was simply tired of the sex, wanted something new. Perhaps he had developed feelings for someone else. It did not matter, the result was the same. Cousland would say what he felt he needed to say, and then they would part ways.

At least this time...this time it would not end in bloodshed. 

He paused, choosing his words carefully, then said frankly, "I am going to propose to Anora."

"And you want me out of the picture," he finished the thought for him. "It would be unseemly for a King--or would it be Prince?--to dally with an elf. Especially a male one. And _most_ especially when he is married."

"That is not at all what I'm saying," Cousland shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing. "Anora herself has that Orlesian elf of hers, Erlina. You saw them go off to her chambers together--everyone knows that she is not a simple handmaiden."

"So you...wish to take me as a concubine?" This was not at all what he had expected. 

"Bodyguard was what I was thinking, actually," he replied. "It would not be suspicious for you to be in my private quarters, and with your knowledge of poisons, assassination...this is all hypothetical, of course. I do not even know if Anora will agree. I believe she would, however. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement, strengthen our alliance..." he took Zevran's hand, looking serious. "But I will not even ask her if you do not wish it. There are other alternatives, and I understand entirely if you object."

Zevran laughed, partially with relief, "You expected me to object to this arrangement? Aedan, my dear Warden, do you not know me at all? We shall see about the bodyguard part, but I do not require fidelity of all things. Did you forget so quickly the tryst with Isabela?"

Now it was Cousland's turn to look surprised.

"Sex, love, and politics are three very different things," he continued. "You are lucky to get two in a single partner, and three is practically impossible. If you wish to marry another, do so. If you wish to take another to your bed, with or without me (preferably with), do so. If you wish to woo Oghren, by all means, wine and dine him to your heart's content."

He moved his hand from the man's fingers to his shoulder to his face, turning his head so as to look at him directly. 

"I make no claims upon you, and I would have it no other way. The only thing I would ask of you is honesty. Any other partner you have should be told about me up front, and if they have a problem with the arrangement between you and I, either cut it off with them or I will step aside without a fuss. Better to avoid complications, no?"

"I agree," Cousland said. "And if you wish another, I would not begrudge you them, either. However, as a noble, and a possible king, discretion would be appreciated."

Zevran nodded, "Of course. And although, as I said, I have no objections, I must thank you for speaking to me about this directly, and beforehand. Do tell me Anora's reply, no?"

"I will," the Warden pulled him in for a soft kiss. "Oh, and Zevran? I never properly thanked you for coming to my rescue today."

He grinned, "No you didn't, did you? You should rectify that."

Laying back, he dragged the human on top of him and bit his lower lip. 

 

_((Sorry, thinkfirst. Sex and fluff next time, I promise!))_


	43. Chapter 43

"You look so very enticing when you do that," Cousland praised, leaning down to kiss him. 

"And that is why I do it," he said, kissing him back. "Shall I get my collar while you slip into something less metallic?"

"Wait, I..." the man hesitated. "I would like to try something different tonight, actually."

"I'm game. What did you have in mind?"

"You know how much I love you mouth, the way you suck me, your tongue...and I find myself...curious."

Zevran smiled broadly. He thought he saw where this was going, "You have never been on the other end, I take it?"

He shook his head, getting up from the mattress. Zevran sat up, watching him fiddle with his armor. Perhaps the mindless task helped soothe his nerves. "With my noble blood, I had a lot of women throwing themselves at me, and I indulged with more than a few whores, or loose women. But as for men...there was only one other. A squire, the son of a Bann. We spared together, and we flirted, but we only were together once before Howe's men killed him," the armor was gone, but he did not attempt to strip his underclothes off as well. "I outranked him, so I had him suck me. I did not return the favor. I thought it was beneath me, that it would be degrading to pleasure another. But with you...I _want_ to give you pleasure."

"In that case, I suppose I could oblige," he teased.

Aedan smiled, his confidence back, and pulled out the collar and the two lengths of rope from his pack.

"I want to tie your arms and legs," he said, collaring him. They locked eyes, Cousland's gaze intense. "I want to pleasure you until you beg for release, then watch your beautiful face as you come undone for me."

A shiver crawled down his spine, then he leaped into action, practically tearing off his clothes, as well as Aedan's. How could an offer to perform oral sex upon you sound so deliciously dominant? 

His wrists were bound together with the shorter rope, then lashed around the bar at the headboard. His feet, however, were spread, and bound to either end of the bottom bedposts. His collar was tight, his bonds pulled taught, and he was pinned under the weight of the larger man, holding down his hips. The Warden kissed and bit at his thighs and he moaned, "Yes, Master Cousland."

"What would you like me to do to you, elf?" 

"Lick me, Master Cousland" he directed. "Root to tip. All around," the man started with a few, tentative licks on the underside of his quickly-hardening cock. His inexperience was obvious, but Zevran did not mind. It had been so long... 

Then the attentions paused.

"You will tell me if you are close, right?" the man asked. 

"Of course. And do not feel the need to swallow, if you would rather not. I will not be offended if you spit, or have me come in your hands, instead."

He nodded, and got back to work, this time taking the head into his mouth and sucking. Zevran let out a moan. Not half bad. Though it was generally true that men usually were better at such things, since they knew what they liked on themselves. 

"Master Cousland...Master Cousland, please, it's not enough," he pleaded, knowing how much he enjoyed that. 

Encouraged, the human went down farther, using his hand at the base in tandem with his mouth. He apparently did not have the coordination to use his tongue at the same time, but that was alright, he was a beginner. 

"A little faster, please, I beg of you..."

Aedan increased his pace as he was bade, his eyes shut in concentration. It was quite a sight to see the much larger, much more dominant man sucking cock. Sucking _his_ cock, no less. 

He hissed in pain, "Teeth!"

"Sorry," he said, taking a breath for a moment before going back down on him.

Now, that was better. And Zevran said so, praising him and begging him not to stop, begging him for more, more, more. 

"I'm getting close," he warned, panting. 

Cousland pulled back, stroking him with both hands instead until he came with a shout. 

A shame, he thought as he let his head fall back onto the pillow. How sexy it would have been to see him swallow. But that was his choice, and he was new. 

"Would you like me to take care of you as well?" he offered, hearing the sounds of skin against skin that let him know exactly what his partner was doing. 

"No, I--" he heard a gasp and the sounds halted abruptly. "I am fine. Thank you."

There was splashing at the water basin and then Aedan set about removing him from his bondage. He smiled up at him, "Did you enjoy that?"

"I did. Was I...alright?" Maker, that was endearing. 

Zevran, now free, sat up and kissed his cheek, the way Cousland so often did to him, "More than alright, my dear Aedan."

The Warden nodded and got up to put everything away, as well as let Cuddles inside. 

They lay together, their arms and legs tangled, and Aedan kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his chin in quick succession, making him laugh. 

Zevran's hand went idly to his earring, toying with it as Cousland nuzzled into his neck. The Warden had given him so much. Maybe, when the time was right, he should give him something in return...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going on vacation! This will likely be the last chapter until sometime next week. <3


	44. Chapter 44

Zevran woke the first time as Cousland rose from bed, still naked and rifling through his bag. It was far-too-early-o’clock, as usual for the human. He wondered vaguely if Aedan had always been this way, or whether it had something to do with Warden stamina. 

He offered to help him with his armor, as he usually did, but the man told him to go back to sleep, kissing him on the temple. 

He didn’t argue

The second time, Cousland was considerably less naked. In fact, he wore finery—including a floor length dark blue cape—and was obviously freshly bathed. Combined with his imposing height and build, he had never before looked so…noble. Of course he was noble-born, Zevran had known that practically from the beginning, but it was strange to see him out of armor or nightclothes. This is what he must have looked like on a daily basis before the Wardens. The clothes suited him nicely. 

“You look positively dashing, dear Aedan,” he said, sitting up. “What is the occasion?” 

“Anora said yes.”

For a moment, he was confused. 

Then the conversation from the previous night hit him. 

“Oh, yes, the proposal!” he smiled. “Congratulations.”

The human chuckled a little, his returning smile not quite reaching his eyes, “It needs to be made official, of course. We plan on announcing it at the Landsmeet, to take Loghain and his supporters off-guard. Arl Eamon, as well. As hospitable as he has been to us, he _must not know_ about this arrangement. He still insists on Alistair taking the throne, despite his insufficiency and unwillingness.”

“I will hold my tongue,” Zevran assured. 

“I know that you will,” he said. The man trusted him. Made him, an assassin of all people, his confidant... He had to admit, he was flattered. They had come a long way from when the man had checked his teeth for poison capsules. “Also, Anora wants a discrete meeting with us, after supper tonight.”

“With you and me?” he raised an eyebrow. He understood why the Queen would want to meet with her future fiancé, but not so much with him.

“You, me, her, and Erlina, actually,” he replied. “As you said yesterday, it would be best to be honest, to avoid complications.”

He readily agreed. He was happy to know that the man had kept his word and told Anora about their...about them being together upfront. Jealousies could still rear their ugly heads in such arrangements, he knew, but at least there would be no deceptions, no betrayals. At least, not in this regard. It was a political marriage, after all. 

Cousland exchanged his fine clothes for armor, and gathered up a small party to go to the Alienage. First, however, the man met with the Dalish emissary, Caron, greeting him with something in the old Elven tongue. 

“I didn’t know he’s been learning Elvish,” Leliana commented. “It is such a pretty language, perhaps the ambassador would teach me as well, or tell me some stories. You cannot really know the nuances of a story unless you hear and understand it in its intended tongue. So much more context that way.”

“Is the Chant of Light not enough fiction for you?” Morrigan drawled. 

He shut his ears to the next few minutes of arguing, observing Caron and Cousland instead. He didn’t know Aedan had been studying the language, either. The human’s speech was halting, but he never once slipped back into Common tongue.

The two men exchanged bundles, and bade their goodbyes. 

“If I may ask, when did you take Elvish lessons?” 

“Every morning, practically. I honestly thought you knew. You always wake up when I leave, you just fall back asleep so you don’t remember, I suppose,” he shrugged. “The dwarves, humans, and even the Circle elves all speak Common fluently. But the Dalish are another story. Their knowledge…varies, to say the least, and during the stresses of combat or injury, people will often revert to their native tongue. And communication is vital during battle. However, I would rather learn their language myself than to waste a fourth of my army’s training time learning Common when they should be focusing on military maneuvering with the others," he explained. "Besides, I am good with languages. I pick them up quickly.”

“Oh? What other languages do you speak?” 

_“I can speak Common, Antivan, Orlesian, Qunlat, Ander, Rivaini, and Tevene,”_ he answered with a near-perfect accent in Antivan, making Zevran stop short and look at him in shock. He switched back to Common. “My elder brother Fergus was destined to become the next Arl. The second born is traditionally taught military training. Don’t get me wrong, I did spend much of my schooling on Combat Tactics and the use of sword and shield, just in case the Orlesians decided to return. However those skills are useless when the nation is at peace, as it was for my entire life up until this point. So I learned diplomacy skills as well. Languages, coercion, various customs and manners. Of course, I was taught nothing about elves, Dalish or otherwise,” he tsked. “I was so stupid with the Dalish, but I learned my lesson.”

“ _Your lesson being not to try to fuck me roughly against a tree?_ ” he teased in Antivan, shooting him a sly smile. Now that he knew, he was going to enjoy being able to speak privately in public. 

He shook his head, “That, too. But more importantly, Grey Warden treaty or no, I should never have expected them to do as I asked because I asked it. They had every reason in the world to distrust me, to even hate me, and I did little to change their minds. My frustration almost led to me squandering an extremely valuable resource,” a gauntleted hand closed over his. “Thanks to you, I saw reason. The curing of the curse luckily made up for most of my blunders, and now I know not to take my forces for granted. I’ve been keeping the emissaries well-supplied, and walking among the troops when I have the time. It’s done wonders for morale.”

“Hmmm, that explains what you gave the Dalish ambassador, but what did he give you in return?”

“An ironbark amulet. I assume the Alienage has some sort of leader, or respected elder, and I intended to give it to them as a gift,” he said. “If getting Anora to safety as soon as possible wasn’t my priority yesterday, I would have given them Vaughan’s head on a platter, but I suppose this will do.”

They scared off a few elves giving a human dockworker a hard time and passed by a beggar without a word. Just a few weeks ago, Cousland had given that little elven girl money. Perhaps his generosity only extended to children, though. Which is probably a good thing—many beggars were scam artists.

 _Bearing arms is strictly prohibited_ an official-looking sign read. _Elves who have swords will die upon them._

Cousland fumed, “Slaying elves in the streets is not going to help matters deescalate. These policies will breed desperation, not docility."

He gestured up ahead to a gathering crowd of elves. The people seemed agitated, but non-violent thus far. “Come. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”


	45. Chapter 45

As they grew closer, it became clear that the elves weren't protesting anything, they were asking for help. Well...with one exception. A red-haired woman with fire in her eyes. 

"Quit trying to get us all killed, Shianni," one of them warned her. 

"If this spell of theirs works, why are half the people they quarantine perfectly healthy?" she whirled on them, apparently hearing their approach, and glared at Cousland. "What's wrong, shem, did you get bored and decide to come watch the elves die of plague?" 

Not acknowledging her rudeness, he removed his helmet and nodded politely, "My name is Cousland. Shianni, is it? Your cousin Soris mentioned you. Did he get here safely? Is he well?"

"Yes, yes, he's as good as can be expected," her demeanor shifted from aggressive to curious to grateful. "Soris told me about you, Cousland. You're the one who freed him from the dungeons."

"With help, yes," he replied with a curt nod. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"These foreigners say they're here to help with outbreaks of plague. Funny thing, though, all the people they 'help' disappear." 

Another woman from the crowd interjected, claiming that her sisters got the spell and turned out fine. 

"Where's your niece, then?" she countered. "And my Uncle Cyrion? And Valendrian?"

"Slow down, where are these foreigners from, exactly?"

"Tevinter," she said. Cousland's eyes darkened at the word. "They've taken dozens of elves into that house over the last few weeks, and none of them have ever been seen again. One of them was our hahren, Valendrian, and I don't know what we're going to do if we don't get him back." Even Zevran knew the term 'hahren.' Elder, leader of the alienage. 

"I think I need to take a look at this 'quarantine,'" he said. 

"They won't just let you in. But...there's another entrance. No crowd watching, only one guard."

"Thank you for your help, Shianni," he said with a polite smile, heading down the alleyway she directed them towards. 

"Somehow I doubt they are helping the elves out of the goodness of their hearts," Morrigan said. "Especially since the elves likely cannot pay them anything."

"I was thinking the same thing," Cousland agreed. 

There was a single elven guard at the side entrance. He, of course, said no entry, go away, the usual. 

"I notice you're wearing a sword," Cousland said. "Are you not afraid of the guard?"

"What's worse? Dying of the plague, the guard, or hunger?" the elf shook his head. "Look, I know there are risks, but I'll take my chances if it means I'll get paid. I've _been_ hungry, the novelty's worn off."

"What about slavery?" he asked bluntly. "Tevinter's economy is based on slavery. Specifically, the enslavement of elves. You think working for them will spare you? You think that once they've pilfered every able-bodied person from this place, they'll continue to pay you? They'll clap you in irons. Now go home and lay low, so I can cleanse this place of these bastards before they take you, too."

The man fled, eyes wide with fear. 

"Do you think that's true?" Leliana asked. "These people are slavers?"

Aedan nodded grimly, "I believe so. I did not want to say anything to Shianni, however, for fear of creating a panic. Now, Zevran, the door, please."

He knelt and got out his lockpicks. It was a tricky, finicky thing and took a few minutes of concentration before finally clicking open. He turned the knob quietly and peaked inside.

"Usually clinics have healers rather than armed men, no?" Zevran commented. He suspected the man's theory was likely true, now, and it made his gut clench at the thought. 

"Just as I suspected," the human said. "You and Leliana, sneak in and kill as many as you can, quietly. We'll be right behind you."

The two of them dispatched the first group of guards easily without being detected. Ah, the element of surprise. 

Leliana snatched up a key with a note, reading aloud, "Bring eight males and six females for the next shipment."

"I don't believe that's for trading livestock," Cousland said, eyes narrowed. "Come on."

The next room confirmed their worst suspicions. 

No cots, no healers. Just a cage with healthy-looking, young elves. 

"Help us!" one of them cried. He sported a nasty black eye. "Please, we're not sick, let us out of here!"

Cousland gestured toward Leliana, "Try the key."

The cell opened, and the elves ran. The one who had spoken up paused to say, "Thank you, friend."

"No need. Now, where is Valendrian?" the Warden asked.

"They took him away already, threw the back alley. We don't know where, exactly."

"Do you know how many elves are being held?"

He shook his head, "I wish I could help you, but no, ser."

"The name is Cousland. Now, you need get out of here, go to safety."

"You don't need to say that twice," he said, running off with the others. 

They searched the area for more prisoners, then fought their way through a series of back alleys and apartments. The further they went, the more resistance they encountered. They must be getting close to whoever was running this slaver ring. 

And wouldn't you know it? A warehouse. Zevran had no doubt what the particular wares of this house would be. 

"What is the meaning of this?" an elven woman confronted them. "We were told that there would be no interference from the authorities. We have been given dispensation to do our business here."

"By whom? Howe? Loghain?" the Warden questioned. 

"Oh? An errant group of do-gooders, then? You will regret this, you know."

"You are an elf, too. How can you be part of this?" Zevran asked.

"So I should feel kinship for these sheep? Don't be a fool. I am Tevinter first, and a servant of the Minrathous Circle second. Those are the things that matter. But enough. I am here to halt your slaughter, nothing more."

Aedan drew his sword and shield, "You can try."


	46. Chapter 46

More fighting, more rooms, even more fighting, and even more rooms. They did not come across any other elves in cages, however. So the main holding area, as well as whoever was in charge, must still be ahead. 

"I am Caladrius," a human man said, his voice brimming with smug self-assurance. And look, just as he has suspected, the walls were lined with prisoners. Just lovely. "And you, I assume, must be the Grey Warden I've heard so much about."

"How do you know who I am?"

"Loghain, of course," that explained the elven woman's claim that they had been given dispensation. If the regent himself had condoned this, no wonder the guards were doing nothing. And the signs about elves and weapons... "I know you have been trying to erode his support. A difficult task, yes? Like washing away a mountain. Perhaps you could use some help. Once the Landsmeet is done, our gold is less vital to Loghain, and the arrangement will likely end. So, here is my offer: one hundred sovereigns from you for a letter with the Teryn's seal upon it, implicating him in all of this. Then, we leave a few days earlier than planned with our profits and remaining slaves, unharmed."

"'Tis a reasonable enough _starting_ offer," Morrigan said. 

He turned on her, "I suggest you look those elves in the eyes before you agree to have them hauled off to slavery, my friend."

"I want to examine this letter, first," Cousland said. "Then I think you and I can come to a gentleman's agreement, can't we?"

Zevran suppressed a smile. Those were almost the exact words he'd said to Vaughan the day before. 

"I don't feel right about this," Leliana said as one of the guards climbed the stairs, a piece of parchment in hand. The mage was too cowardly to come up himself, apparently. 

Though with good reason. 

As soon as he held out the paper for inspection, Zevran took the hint and snatched it from his hands. He did not even get a chance to shout before Cousland stabbed below the chin. 

Morrigan laughed, "I like this new option better, actually." She raised her hands to the sky, and soon the bottom level erupted in flames, centered around Caladrius. The men were forced up the stairs, or else be burned. 

Leliana stayed up high, focusing on the enemy's archers, and Caladrius whenever she got a clear shot. Zevran and Aedan both took up positions at the tops of the stairwells. They were natural chokepoints, so that each guard could be dispatched one by one without a risk of getting surrounded. 

Caladrius was a powerful one, though, and his guards did not go down easily. He was burned, frozen, and had an arrow sticking out one calf when the Tevinter finally went down. 

"Enough, enough!" he cried. "It...seems your reputation is an accurate one, I surrender."

"Perhaps you should be left to the mercy of these elves?" Cousland said. 

"Wait! Hear me out, kind ser."

"No, I don't think I will," the Warden went to the nearest cage, and bashed the lock in, freeing the elves inside. Some stayed inside and cowered, some rushed to unlock the other cages, and three of the younger ones beat the already-injured mage into a pulp until they were dragged off. A fitting death.

"Morrigan, would you heal Zevran, please?" he asked, helping him to the ground. The man looked down at his calf, concerned. "And take the arrow out, too."

"Fine, fine, very well," she rolled her eyes and Zevran sighed as the pain eased. 

An old elven man approached them, saying, "You don't look like a Tevinter. Not that it means much. Are you one of them? What happens to us now?"

"No, I'm not one of them, and you are of course free to go. Though I must ask where Valendrian is? Shianni is looking for him."

"Shianni sent you for me? Praise the Maker!" the relief in his wrinkled face was clear. 

"So you are him, then? Hold for a moment," the Warden produced a bundle from his pack, the one Caron had given him earlier, and handed it to him. "This is for you, hahren."

The man unwrapped it with carefully, and starred with wide eyes. It was truly beautiful. 

"This is of Dalish make," he said, in awe.

"Indeed it is. My name is Aedan Cousland. I am a Grey Warden and I have partnered with the Dalish to fight the Blight. I thought it a fitting gift for you, hahren. A shame you and I were not able to meet on more pleasant terms. Dareth shiral." 

"Dareth shiral, falon."

Zevran screamed, clutching his leg as it seared in pain. He looked down to find a bloody hole where the arrow had been.

"You're fine," Morrigan said, tossing the splintered arrow aside and soothing the wound closed with a bit of healing magic. "There, that will hold you until we get back."


	47. Chapter 47

"Is someone there? Maker's blessing to you, child. Be not afraid. I still have some sight to see you by," a man in templar armor with white, (nearly) sightless eyes called out as they passed. Zevran sighed. They'd already spoken again to Shianni, Soris, Valendrian...well, he couldn't be annoyed with that last one. The hahren had given them something shiny and sharp, and it was a dagger, so it went to Zevran by default. But they were so close to getting back to a hot meal and perhaps a hot bath as well. 

Such a shame. 

"Greetings. If I may ask, what is a templar doing here?" 

And where was he when we were fighting the damned Tevinter mages, Zevran wanted to know. 

Hunting down rumors of a den of maleficar, apparently. 

The Warden rubbed his forehead, muttering to himself, "Of course there's maleficar. Slavers aren't enough for one day."

"I will assist you," Cousland said in a normal voice. "However, one of my own is injured. Morrigan, please escort Zevran back to base."

"Why do _I_ have to be the one to--" the witch started. 

"Morrigan," he interjected sternly. "Please escort Zevran _away from the good templar_ and back to base. And send backup--Sten and Alistair. Zev, I will meet you in my quarters later after Wynne has a look at you. If I am not back by supper, give Anora my apologies"

"As you wish, my dear Warden," he said with a smile. Cousland had a point. Both with regards to his injuries (his calf was not bleeding, and he could walk on his own, but he would need more mobility to be of any real use in a battle) as well as with regards to getting an apostate the hell away from a templar, otherwise it could end bloody. And not for Morrigan.

"That is wily of you," the woman said, as soon as they were out of earshot. 

"What is so wily of me, o magical temptress?" he teased, limping behind her.

"Getting in the good graces of the one who decides whether you live or die. Not to mention the one who can protect you against your former comrades."

"And I am supposed to believe you are here because of a... sense of patriotism, perhaps?"

She scoffed, "Ha! Hardly that."

"We all have our reasons for doing what we do. Mine happen to come with a set of strong hands," he replied. Then he remembered a certain bet Alistair had made with him. Now was as good a time as any to lay the groundwork. "Such sinister glares do you a disservice, dear Morrigan. Yours should be a face that smiles..."

 

~o~O~o~

 

After stashing the papers somewhere hidden and safe, he went to Wynne's room (which had multiple cots for occasions such as these) and let her dote upon him for the next few hours. Unlike Morrigan's method of stop-the-bleeding-long-enough-for-them-to-keep-fighting, Wynne actually disinfected, stitched, and healed the entire injury, which took much longer. She treated the mild burns and frostnip he'd gotten as well. By the end, he was starting to grow impatient. He could live with a little pain. Makers knows he had before. 

He was not worried about Cousland being gone for so long. After all, he could have stopped to speak with the emissaries, or the mission could have taken longer than expected. 

Then dinner came, and he still was not present. 

Anora was expecting him, surely he would not keep the Queen of all people waiting? 

His ear twitched. He could pick up vaguely muffled sounds, that grew clearer. The clanking of armor. Shouting. 

Zevran rose from the table, excusing himself politely, then following the noises to Wynne's room. She, Sten, Alistair, and Leliana were all crowded around... 

He was unconscious. Bloody. Three holes in a straight line punctured his armor. But that was impossible. That kind of strength...what ever had done that was not human or elven or even Qunari. 

"Sweaty, pale, and cold," the healer touched Cousland's neck for a few moments and shook her head. "Weak pulse, too. He's lost too much blood, he's in shock."

"What do you need me to do?" he asked, pushing to his side. 

"Zevran, I know that you are concerned but I need to concentrate," Wynne scolded, pointing to the door. "Alistair and Sten, hurry with the armor. Leliana, fetch pillows and blankets. He needs to be kept warm, and his feet propped up."

"I can--"

"Zevran," she snapped. "If you wish to help, leave the room."

He obeyed, shutting the door behind him and sinking against the wall.

"Hey," Oghren said, taking a seat next to him. He hadn't been paying enough attention to even hear his approach. The dwarf offered him a flask. "Ya look like you need this more'n me, pal."

He grabbed it with a nod and took a pull. 

Zevran immediately grimaced, "How can it be possible for that to taste _worse_ than it smells?"

"It grows on ya," he shrugged.


	48. Chapter 48

Sten and Alistair left the room. They were mostly in there to help with the armor and lifting, he suspected, so this was no surprise. 

Before he even opened his mouth, the Qunari seemed to anticipate his question, and answered it, "The Warden is alive. Beyond that, I do not know. I am not a healer."

Zevran let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Right, so...I'm going to let Eamon know what's going on. And Anora, too, I guess," Alistair said. He patted him twice on the shoulder before pulling back awkwardly. "I know that you and I... I know you two... He'll be okay."

Rather than leave with Alistair, as he expected, the giant stood in silence, looking at him expectantly. Perhaps he assumed there would be more questions, and was uncharacteristically charitable enough to entertain them.

"What happened?" he asked. 

"A demon impaled him with a trident. Other demons killed the Templar. We purged the area and then brought him here."

That explained his unusual injuries. How something could have pierced his armor so cleanly. 

_Impaled._

He hadn't seen Cousland's back, but that word implied the tines went all the way through him. How could anyone survive that? 

Sten continued to stand above him, stoic and unyielding, "Are you finished with your questions, elf?"

"I am."

The Qunari departed without another word, punctuated by Oghren letting out a loud snore, having passed out next to him long before. Not that he minded terribly. His occasional half-asleep mutterings were amusing. Or, at the very least, kept his mind off things for a short time.

Hours later, Leliana came out, looking as exhausted as he felt. "So, he's not awake, but he's doing a lot better," she said, offering him a little smile. "Wynne said you can see him now."

Zevran stumbled to his feet, ignoring the prickling in his legs after sitting on the floor so long, and launched himself inside. 

"Calm down, Zevran, he's not going anywhere," Wynne said patiently, gesturing to a plain wooden chair at Cousland's bedside. "And he'll live. He'll be in a lot of pain, at first, but Wardens are remarkably resilient. I am certain his recovery will be quick, so long as he does not try to do too much too fast." 

He took the seat, as directed, and looked down at him. Heavy blankets were pulled up to Aedan's chin so all he could see was his face. The human's skin was a bit darker than his, usually, but now he looked so pale... Zevran cupped his face in his hands and leaned down, kissing his forehead.

His eyes began to burn. 

Then Wynne's arms hugged him from the side, wrapped him in the closest thing to a mother's embrace he had ever received.

"I will admit, I did not approve of your relations with him, at first. I thought you would distract him from his duties as a Grey Warden. But I can see now that there is something special between the two of you. You make each other stronger. And better people. Both of you have changed so much," she pulled back a little to look at him and smiled. "It brings warmth to these old bones to know that something so beautiful can be found in the midst of chaos and strife."

He stood to hug her back properly, grateful that she had dismissed the others. And doubly grateful that if she felt dampness on her sleeve, she did not mention it. 

Wynne, worn out from her marathon of healing, eventually broke away to rest. 

He sat back down and laid his head against the man's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"My dear Warden, you will never believe this," he whispered. "Thanks to you, I finally got to rest my head on Wynne's bosom. And what a marvelous thing it was."


	49. Chapter 49

Both of them slept fitfully. Every hour or so, Aedan would start to drift away from the Fade, his arms wrapping around his midsection as if to guard his wounds from further injury, and his face grimacing in pain. Zevran would stroke his hair, or give him water, or do whatever he could think of to him until his labored breathing eased into the steady rhythm of sleep. The man hadn't spoken yet. Barely even opened his eyes. 

By the time morning came, Zevran was exhausted. As an assassin, staying up all night was a common part of the job. However, in those cases, he had the excitement of the hunt to keep him going. Now he just had worry. And worry was draining. He was not cut out for this sort of thing. 

Yet, at the same time, no one asked him to do it. 

The door opened behind him and he turned to see Leliana with a jar of clear liquid. 

"I did not realize you knew herbalism, o beautiful bard," he commented, attempting to smile.

"I don't. Morrigan gave this to me for the Warden. She does not want to ruin her cold as ice reputation, I presume," she said with a smile, keeping her voice down as Wynne and Cousland were still sleeping. "She said that if you dampen a cloth with it and place it under a person's nose, it will help with pain, without the lightheaded side-effects," Leliana put a hand on his shoulder. "You should lay down, get some real sleep. I will look after him in the meantime."

He hesitated, looking down at Cousland. He wanted to be there when he truly woke up. However, if he put off sleep much longer, he would be of no use to Aedan when he did. 

"You have my gratitude, Leliana," he said, rolling onto the nearest cot. "I do not suppose you would care to join me, hmmm? Take my mind off things?"

She shook her head and smiled, recognizing the teasing for what it was and not rising for the bait. Ah, so she had learned. 

He willed himself to sleep. The sooner he did, the sooner he would be able to take watch again. But a pained grunt from Aedan made him tense as he was a moment away from going under. He was about to get up again, to offer his help, then he smelled something sweet. Like peppermint. Sure enough, when he looked over, Leliana had the potion out.

The bard began to sing, strong and hauntingly beautiful. He recognized the words as Dalish, but did not know what they meant. Caron must have taught her, after all.

He watched as the pain in Aedan's face eased. Then he closed his eyes.


	50. Chapter 50

"So, since now I know of your proficiency with Antivan, how would you like to hear a bit of Antivan poetry?" he offered, returning to their room with a bowl of chicken broth. 

After two days, Wynne had allowed Cousland to be moved to their bed instead of the makeshift infirmary's cots. After some lengthy lecturing on proper care, of course. He was under strict orders not to let him walk any farther than the bathing chamber until tomorrow. 

"I am not exactly the poetry type, but go right ahead," Aedan propped himself up on a pillow and took the bowl from him. Zevran stripped off his long tunic and plain trousers and curled into bed next to him as he ate. 

"The symphony I see in thee/ It whispers songs to me/ Songs of hot breath upon my neck/ songs of soft sighs by my head/ songs of nails upon my back/ songs of thee come to my bed," he recited in Antivan. 

Cousland made a face, thoroughly unimpressed, and he chuckled. 

"Oh, I know, I know. A rather wealthy target of mine told it to me. I couldn't believe she thought this would actually convince me to spare her."

"And now you are bringing a seriously injured target soup instead of finishing the job," he said with amusement. "Unless, of course, it's poisoned." He took another deliberate sip, nonchalant. 

"Not just bringing you soup, but also lifting your spirits with naughty poetry," he said, kissing the side of his neck. "I am a man of many talents."

"Yes, I know," he said with a conspiratorial smile, setting the broth aside. "Why don't you go get your collar? I could tie your arms behind your back, grab you by the hair, force you to swallow down my big, thick--"

A rap at the door interrupted him. 

"We could always ignore them," Zevran suggested. After all, if they bothered to knock, it could not be the end of the world. 

"Later, I promise," he said. "Open it."

He dressed quickly and obeyed. Anora and Erlina walked through, looking the picture of elegance in contrast to their simple, comfortable attire.

"I must apologize, Warden, for not coming to see you earlier. Your healer informed me that too many visitors at once could be hard on your health. She has been keeping me informed about your condition, however, and I am glad to see you are doing well."

"As good as can be expected, yes," he said, nodding deeply in lieu of a bow, as he was still reclined. "Thank you for your concern, your majesty. What can I do for you?"

"I would like to discuss our..." she looked specifically at Zevran. "Post-nuptial arrangements. If your health is well enough, that is."

He and Zevran exchanged looks. He nodded. The mood was already killed, so why not?

"Very well," Cousland said. He beckoned Zevran towards him and held his hand. Such an innocent gesture, but it made him feel...he did not entirely know. "There is actually...a new, possibly complicating piece of information I have learned recently that I need to tell you of. There is a high probability as a Grey Warden that I cannot have children," well, that was a surprise. His sterility certainly wasn't the result of impotence. "An heir would have to be from another man. That is fine by me, so long as he resembles either me or you enough for the babe to be passable as mine."

Anora's face flashed with relief, "I am terribly sorry if that is a disappointment for you, Warden. But to be honest, unlike the rumors of Cailan's infertility or my frigidity, the reason we never had children is because I do not _want_ children. Not, at least, in the traditional way."

"So, when the time comes, we adopt an heir," Aedan suggested. "Preferably with some noble blood. And old enough that they cannot be a mage and therefore disinherited."

After a moment, Anora said, "That sounds like the best alternative. What of sleeping arrangements?"

"Zevran and I may share a bed at times. Possibly with other partners as well, but we can speak more that as the situations arise."

"Erlina and I would like to enjoy a similar arrangement," she said, and the elf behind her nodded her agreement. "As for consummation, no one would check the bedsheets for blood on a second marriage. However, Erlina and I have spoken and we would not be opposed to the idea of you joining us in bed," she turned to Zevran. "You are also welcome to join."

"I have no issue with that if Zevran doesn't," he said.

Did a literal Queen and King-to-be just invite him to a foursome?

"You even have to ask?"

Cousland smiled, "I look forward to our wedding night, then, my queen." Anora offered her hand and he kissed it. 

"I will pray for your fast recovery, Warden."

With that, the two women departed. 

Zevran climbed back onto the bed, "Now, you were saying earlier about something big and thick..."


	51. Chapter 51

Zevran's eyes were constantly checking the perimeter of the room and the lone entrance, and keeping his back to the wall. He felt as if they were being watched, and perhaps they were. The Warden drew trouble like honey drew flies. Not that it was a problem, most of the time. However, as the last week had clearly demonstrated, the human was not immortal. And with his recent injuries, he was not exactly vulnerable, but...at a disadvantage. He did not enjoyspending hours on end in an unsecured location like this. 

"It appears sufficient, kadan," Sten said, drawing his attention back to the platform where Aedan was getting fitted. That was by far the highest praise he'd ever heard from the Qunari. And with good reason, too. The armor Wade had forged (and in a matter of hours, no less) was intimidating, flawless, and quite aesthetically pleasing for its bulk. 

Aedan had decided that his first trip outside Arl Eamon's walls was to commission a new set for himself, since Wynne could only heal flesh, not armor after all. Plus, being the Market District, they were less likely to run into trouble. Not that he put it past the man to run into some anyway, with Loghain's men still looking for him.

"Leliana's drakescale armor was impressive, but this is truly a thing of beauty," the human praised as the smith finished the last adjustment. 

"My life's work, that is," Wade gushed, stepping back to admire it. 

The Warden offered to compensate him for his work, but the armorer refused. This led to bickering between him and his partner (and likely bed-partner) and they were all but thrown from the shop.

"Now, I must insist on returning straight away," Wynne said. "It has only been a week since your injury, and that armor is clearly not without weight. I do not want you exhausting yourself."

"I must agree, dear Warden," he said, though exhaustion was not his primary concern. 

They continued through the streets, taking the quickest route possible back to the estate. With the guards spread as thin as they were (and many buying into the lies against the Wardens), he doubted there would be any help if they stuck to the main roads, anyhow.

"And so here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last," a familiar voice said as they rounded the next corner. Taliesen. He had arranged it so he had the higher ground, of course. And Zevran was willing to bet that there were followers in the shadows. "The Crows send their greetings once again."

He put his hands on his main daggers, though he had to suppress an ache in his stomach as he did so. They had been friends once. And more.

"So they sent you, Taliesen? Or did you volunteer for the job?" 

"I volunteered, of course," he said. "When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself."

This came as no great surprise. After all, it was Taliesen who offered to be the one to slit Rinna's throat for her supposed betrayal. Why should his response to Zevran's be any different? 

"Is that so? Well here I am, in the flesh," he drew his weapons, and his companions followed suit. 

Taliesen, however, did not. 

"You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this, and I don't blame you. It's not too late. Come back and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake."

He did sound genuine. But then again, good liars always did, and Taliesen was one of the best. 

And the Crows did not achieve the power that they wielded by being forgiving.

"Of course, I'd need to be dead first," Cousland said, eyes narrowed. 

"And I'm not about to let that happen," he said without hesitation. If this is the way it had to be... the choice was not easy, but it was clear.

"What?" Taliesen looked between him and the human, apparently putting two and two together. "You've gone soft!"

"I'm sorry my old friend," he said, that pang in his gut returning. "But the answer is no. I'm not coming back...and you should have stayed in Antiva."


	52. Chapter 52

Zevran considered himself Andrastian. He believed that, if a person does good in their life, in death, they would be taken to the Maker's side. 

Taliesin was not a good man. In the Crows, there were good people, and there were people that survived passed puberty. His former friend would never reach the Maker's side. 

But he could not just...leave him out in the streets like a dead rat. His eyes open, blank and cold and lifeless. 

He took the daggers from his still-warm hands and asked Wynne to burn the body. She obliged, quickly and efficiently. He turned away as she did so, but he could still _smell_ it. And he suspected that he would for a long time.

"And there it is," he said to the Warden. "Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows. With any luck, they will assume I am dead along with him, unless I make my presence known."

"And being at the side of a prince would make you as visible as one could be," he said gravely. 

"I suppose it would be possible for me to leave, now, if I wished. I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows could never find me. I think, however, that I could also stay here. I made an oath to help you, after all. And saving the world seems a worthy task to see through the end, yes?"

"If you want to go, you should go, Zevran," he said. "I won't stop you. Especially not if being with me would make you hunted to the ends of your days. I understand. I do. The Dalish have already said that they would take you in. I was...selfish then. Jealous. But I would not hold it against you if you left now, to the Dalish or wherever else. I am certain a man as skilled as yourself could carve out a life wherever you want to take it."

"But that is what I am asking you," he said, growing frustrated. "Do you want me to go? Do you need me here?"

"You are welcome to stay. Not just for your many talents, either. You have friends here who would miss you dearly. _I_ would miss you dearly. But I want you to do what is best for you. I declare your oath fulfilled. What you do now is your decision."

He was reminded of their first night together. Even when Cousland had been suspicious and domineering, he had still given him a choice. But this was more than a choice of whether or not to have sex. This was more than a choice of being a whore or a soldier. He was being given freedom, true freedom over his life for the first time since he had been sold to the Crows. 

And he did not know what to do with it. He had no idea where to even begin.

"I...am not sure how to respond to that. Nobody has ever... I mean, normally, these things are decided by others. Err...then I suppose I shall...stay? Is that...good?"

Aedan smiled so broadly he could see crinkling along his eyes, "It would be hard to kiss you if you left."

He laughed, "You know...that is so very true."

The man took him in his arms, kissing him in that slow, tender way. 

And he knew that he wasn't nothing.


	53. Chapter 53

Zevran was deep into his submissive mindset, kneeling collared and naked with his head resting on the human's thigh as he ate. Every now and again, Master Cousland would reach down from his desk to hand-feed him a grape, or a bite of bread (as he could not feed himself with his hands bound at his back).

The human typically preferred more...physical forms of domination. Bondage, spanking, even some slight choking. Perhaps it was because this sort of game was not as taxing. He still had not fully recovered, and the fighting today had taken more out of him than he'd most likely admit. 

In fact, it had come as a surprise that the man had even suggested this, actually. They had not done anything of the sort since his injury. He must have sensed Zevran needed it. Needed the distraction, needed to give up his control, if only for a short while. 

Master Cousland fed him a small, round chocolate for dessert, and he closed his eyes, savoring it. Chocolate was only found in Seheron, and with the constant political strife, it was difficult to come by. And very expensive. 

"Thank you, Master Cousland."

"You are welcome, my pet," he stroked his hair affectionately then hooked a finger under his collar. "Now, come to bed, slave."

Zevran followed him, crawling on his knees. 

"What a pretty little elf, what a beautiful face," Master Cousland praised as he settled down on the edge of the mattress. Zevran obediently sat between his legs, licking his lips. He knew what he wanted and, Maker, he _needed_ it. "I think its appearance could be improved by a nice, thick coating of come, though, don't you?"

"Yes, Master Cousland," he said, the dirty talk making him squirm with desire. "Please, I want to feel your come on my face, Master Cousland."

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." he freed his substantial cock from his trousers and Zevran eyed it hungrily. "Suck me."

He did. 

And it was better than chocolate. 

 

~o~O~o~

 

His face was cleaned off, his arms untied, and his collar undone--each action stripping off another layer of his submission. And, unfortunately, taking him back to reality. The edge of the day's events had been dulled, though. 

He reclined, hands stretching lazily above his head, as the human ran the back of his hand across his cheek. 

"It was not as bad as I expected..."

Zevran raised an eyebrow, "Your injury?"

"No. Swallowing."

He laughed. 

He'd needed that.

"Here," he said, reaching for his ear. He slid the earring out and handed it to him. "It seems an appropriate moment to give you this."

The man examined it, "An earring? What is this for?"

"Thanks to you, I am free of the Crows now. At least, until they figure out I'm not truly dead. I took it off of my first target. I thought it fitting to give it to my last, no?" he smiled. "Feel free to sell it or wear it...whatever you'd like. It's really the least I could give you in return."

"So this is a reward, then? Not a token of affection?" he looked...hurt. Disappointed. 

He did not know how to truthfully answer that, "I...look, just...just take it. It's meant a lot to me but so has everything that you've done. Please, take it."

Aedan shook his head, stubborn, and held it out, "I do not require a reward."

"You are a very frustrating man to deal with, you know that?" he got up from bed, threw on his clothes, and snatched the earring from his open palm. "We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this. You don't want the earring? You don't get the earring. Very simple."

He left, and the Warden made no move to stop him.


	54. Chapter 54

It was the eve of the Landsmeet. For the past few days, Cousland had not taken him on any questing outside the estate (though Alistair assured him it was mostly just boring schmoozing with nobles). For the past few nights, they had slept apart. Zevran had taken up residence in a guest room. And when they passed in the halls, he would keep his gaze ahead. 

He was not...this was not like him. This was not like either of them, in fact. Both of them tended to deal with problems head-on. 

So why was he doing this? It was just an earring. It was not worth the restless nights. Ferelden was cold enough without a cold bed as well.

There was a knock on the door. He was not shocked to see the Warden, but it did come as a surprise how much his face looked pinched, his eyes darkly circled. Perhaps wooing nobles was more difficult than it looked, despite his raising.

"I want you to come back to our room," he said simply, directly.

Of course that is what he would ask of him. Not for the earring, but for sex. Tomorrow, he would fight to become a prince, and he needed a good fucking and a pretty elf to warm his bed. Not that he was suddenly a blushing virgin with notions of love he just...

"No. No, I do not think so. Surely there is something else on your mind other than that?"

"I am not asking you for sex, this is about the other night."

"Hmm...I thought that this might be it. Are you certain you wish to talk about this? I really do not know what to say."

"You are avoiding me. I want to know why." With the softness of his voice it managed to not sound like an accusation. Instead, it just made him feel foolish. 

"I...no, this...I am acting like a child, I realize. I apologize. Let me try to explain," he said, hesitating to think of the right words. "An assassin...must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can, when life is good. To expect anything else would be reckless. I thought it was the same between us. Something to enjoy. A pleasant diversion, and little more. And yet..."

"And yet the earring was not just a gift or a payment?" he sighed. "My choice of words was poor last time, I realize that now. I was not rejecting you, or your gesture. I just wanted to know where we stood."

"I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favor of the kill. Everything I have been taught says what I feel was wrong. Yet, I cannot help it. Since I first went to your tent, I have been nothing but confused. Do you understand me at all?"

"I understand that you could feel conflicted. Especially with what happened with Rinna," the reference stung. But not as much as it once may have. "My parents married for political reasons and I owe it to my family's name to do the same. And I have never felt for anyone else the way I feel for you. Truthfully, I do not have much more knowledge of these things than you do."

"All I need to know is if there might be a future for us, some possibility of...I do not know what. Something other than a bodyguard and occasional bedpartner."

Aedan took his hand, and he did not pull away. 

"Grey Wardens do not have long life expectancies, Zevran. Even without a Blight licking at our heels."

"And assassins do?" he countered. 

"Fair point, but...I care for you, I know that much. And whatever future I have, I want to spend it with you."

"I...still have the earring," he said, fetching it from his pocket. He had not put it back in since the last time they'd spoken. "I would like to give it to you as," what was the phrase Aedan had used? "A token of affection. Will you take it?"

"I will."

"Then that is enough for me," the man leaned down, tilting his head for easy access to his earlobe, and Zevran pierced it through. He dabbed at the blood. "I am sorry for acting so strangely. I think I will be be better, now. Much better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably just going to do an epilogue after this...


	55. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zevran's outfit is based on this FANTASTIC fanart by bottleshark. I fell in love with it. 
> 
> http://bottleshark.tumblr.com/post/91424140264/zevran-is-my-favorite-dragon-age-character-hands

Even with the festivities and gorging and excessive drinking, several elves stopped in their tracks to gape at them. Not that he blamed them, exactly. It was not every day that people in crowns and tiaras came to call. Even Erlina stood out due to her hat (which was tame...for an Orlesian). And Zevran wore the trappings of a Grandmaster Crow, complete with cape. Not that he was thrilled, exactly, to have rejoined them, even if it was only in name. But the attempts on Cousland's life, as well as his own, had gotten old, and he did look good in feathers.

All of which paled in comparison to the glowing bride with her yards-long train and her scandalously un-pointed ears. It was tradition that no one but immediate family attend the Chantry ceremony, but they had been graciously invited to the reception. The Arl and other Banns had been, too, but somehow he doubted they would be caught dead in an alienage. 

"Aneth ara," Valendrian greeted as the four of them approached. 

" _Ma serannas_ , Hahren, it is a pleasure to see you again," the Warden replied, offering his left hand. 

Morrigan's ritual had indeed kept him alive, as she'd promised. But although the archdemon's soul had not destroyed him, that did not mean he lacked fire or claws. The later of which had taken his right arm clean off just below the elbow. Cousland, fire in his eyes, discarded his shield, took the sword from his own severed hand, and landed the killing blow with his left. Wynne had tried her best to reattach it afterwords but, well, he was still had to do his handshakes left-handed . 

Zevran counted himself lucky to have walked away from that battle relatively unscathed. And by relatively unscathed, he meant blisters everywhere his armor was not thick enough and missing a good chunk as well as most of his hearing in his left ear. 

"And there's the happy couple," Aedan said, kissing the bride's hand and then embracing Bann Soris. "Congratulations. I wish the two of you many blissful years together." 

And so on and so on with the pleasantries one always expects at such things. Meanwhile, he asked Erlina for a dance. The bard-turned-handmaiden was exceptionally graceful. 

And flexible, too, but those skills would likely not be shown off until later that night. 

It was rare that all four of them were together under the same roof, what with Warden relations, diplomatic meetings, spying, that lovely Hawke woman who constantly made trouble in the Free Marches (no wonder Isabela was fond of her)... The point being, he had no doubt they would be seizing the opportunity. 

At last, after some mingling and revelry, they prepared to depart. Cousland offered his arm to Anora, who took it with a small smile and discretely held Erlina's hand in her own. 

Aedan leaned down to his good ear, speaking in Antivan, "You know, if I could...if it was legal..." 

"I know," he pecked the man's cheek. "I am yours." 


End file.
